BERKELEY 

|  LIBRARY  1 

UNIVERSITY  Of 
CALIFORNIA 


/09?rtr4*»4l 


/J. 


\ 


N'ARKUX 


N 


p 


3  U  F  F A  LO  : 
CEO,     rl.  DERBY     AND    C9 


THE 


SILVER  CUP 


or 


SPARKLING  DROPS, 


MANY   FOUNTAINS 


FOE  THE 


of 


EDITED  BT 

MISS    C.  B.  PORTER. 


"Bright  as  the  dew,  on  early  buds  that  glistens, 
Sparkles  each  hope  upon  their  flower-strewn  path." 


BUFFALO: 
DERBY  AND   CO. 

1852. 


IOAN  STAGS 

TO  THB 

FRIENDS   OF    TEMPERANCE. 

THE    WORLD    OVER, 

If- tittll 


RESPECTFULLY    INSCRIBED 

BY   THE   AUTHOR. 


Jt 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1851,  by 

GEO.   H.  DERBY  AND  CO. 

fa  the  Clerk's  Office  of  the  District  Court  for  the  Northern  District 
of  New  York. 


Stereotyped  by 

BEADLE   A   BROTHER, 

BUFFALO. 


297 


f  ttbli01)n'B  Sntin 


WE  make  no  apology  for  presenting  this,  volume  to 
the  public.  The  subject,  to  which  a  large  portion  of 
its  articles,  relates,  is  all-important,  and  can  not  be  too 
frequently  presented,  nor  too  strongly  urged  upon  the 
consideration  of  community. 

To  all  who  desire  the  peace  of  families,  and  the  purity 
and  happiness  of  society,  we  say,  Hand  round  the  SILVER 
CUP  among  yourselves,  and  if,  after  having  tasted  of  its 
contents,  you  find  it  dashed  with  the  true  elixir,  drink 
therefrom  to  the  health  of  its  amiable  compiler,  and 
pass  the  goblet  to  your  neighbors. 

BUFFALO,  August,  1851. 


PAGE. 

THE  SILVER  CUP, 7 

Seed  Time  and  Harvest,    --------       12 

Sweet  Mother,   ----------.-33 

The  Mystic  River,     -          ---..__.       37 

There  is  Hope  for  the  Fallen,  -------39 

The  Happiest  Land,       -----__._       5$ 

Live  to  do  Good,  -----------     57 

Emma  Alton,       -----------       59, 

The  Last  Inebriate,     ----------76 

Once  I  was  Happy,  ----------       78 

Why  Come  these  Mocking  Breams,   -----     81 

The  Drunkard's  Daughter,  --------       82 

Did  God  so  Will  it, 99 

Intemperance,  ------------     102 

Take  the  Ruby  Wine  Away,    -------103 

The  Knight  of  the  Ringlet, 104 

The  Tree  of  Death, 123 

The  Shower,         --.---.....     125 

I '11  Pay  My  Rent  in  Music, -127' 

Love, --..._     132 

The  Irish  Boy's  Lament,       ........  134 

The  Rainy  Day,  -----......     143 

The  Family  Jewel,      ----------  144 

Energy  in  Adversity,     -----_...     145 

The  Dissipated  Husband, 146 

A  Voice  for  the  Poor,  ---------     167 

Intemperance,          ----..--._     -171 

The  Broken  Hearted, 172 

• 


VI  CONTENTS. 

PAGE. 

What  the  Voice  Said, 178 

Wine  on  the  Wedding  Night,      -    -    -    -    -    -     181 

To  the  Sons  of  Temperance,     -    -    -    -    -    -    -183 

Spirit  Guests,  --------_.„_     195 

Memories,  .......  197 

Traffic  in  Ardent  Spiritej    ......    --200 

Water, ---.....  226 

The  First  and  Last  Prayer,    -------     228 

Look  at  the  Bright  Side,     -----._.  230" 

The  Words  of  Wisdom,      - 231 

The  Widowed  Bride,  -------...  232 

To  My  Child, '    ....     246 

A  Lament, - 248 

Song  of  a  Guardian  Spirit^     --.-.--249 

Jews  Cast  Off,  ----- 250 

The  Night  Cometh,  ------..-.     256 

The  Power  of  Prayer,     ----.....  257 

The  Hopes  of  Earth, 260 

Extract, .....271 

Come  to  the  Fount  of  Love,      --.---271 
An  Appeal  on  Temperance,-    -    -    -    -    -    -    -272 

A  World  Without  Water, 291 

The  Poor  Girl  and  the  Angela,     ------  296 

Give, 310 

Well  Doing, 311 


THE  SILVER  CUP 

<yf 

SPARKLING  DROPS, 


t  i'iiirn 


BY  M.  G.  SLEEPER. 

THE  palace  of  the  Duke  de  Montre  was 
decorated  for  a  banquet.  A  thousand  wax 
lights  burned  in  its  stately  rooms,  making 
them  bright  as  mid-day.  Along  the  walls 
glowed  the  priceless  tapestry  of  the  Gobe- 
lins, and  beneath  the  foot  lay  the  fabrics  of 
Persia.  Rare  vases  filled  with  flowers  stood 
on  the  marble  stands,  and  their  breath  went 
up  like  incense  before  the  life  like  pictures 
shrined  in  their  golden  frames  above.  In 
the  great  hall  stood  immense  tables  covered 
with  delicacies  from  all  lands  and  climes. 
Upon  the  sideboard  glittered  massive  plate, 


8  THESILVEBCUP 

and  the  rich  glass  of  Murano.  Music,  now 
low  and  soft,  now  bold  and  high,  Hoated  in 
through  the  open  casement,  and  was  answered 
at  intervals  by  tones  of  magic  sweetness. 

All  was  ready.  The  noble  and  gifted 
poured  into  the  gorgeous  saloons.  Silks 
rustled,  plumes  waved,  and  jeweled  embroid- 
eries flashed  from  Genoa  velvets.  Courtly 
congratulations  fell  from  every  lip,  for  the 
Duke  de  Montre  had  made  a  new  step  in  the 
path  to  power.  Wit  sparkled,  the  laugh 
went  round,  and  his  guests  pledged  him  in 
wine  that  a  hundred  years  had  mellowed. 
Proudly  the  duke  replied;  but  his  brow 
darkened,  and  his  cheek  paled  with  passion, 
for  his  son  sat  motionless  before  his  untasted 
cup. 

"  Wherefore  is  this ! "  he  angrily  demanded. 
"When  did  my  first  born  learn  to  insult  his 
father  ? " 

The  graceful  stripling  sprang  from  his  seat, 
and  knelt  meekly  before  his  parent.  His 
sunny  curls  fell  back  from  his  upturned  face, 
and  his  youthful  countenance  was  radiant 
with  a  brave  and  generous,  spirit. 


01?    SPABKLING    DEOPS.  9 

"Father,"  he  said,  "I  last  night  learned  a 
lesson  that  sunk  into  my  heart.  Let  me  re- 
peat it,  and  then,  at  thy  command,  I  will 
drain  the  cup.  I  saw  a  laborer  stand  at  the 
door  of  a  gay  shop.  He  held  in  his  hand 
the  earnings  of  a  week,  and  his  wife,  with  a 
sickly  babe  and  two  famishing  little  ones, 
clung  to  his  garments,  and  besought  him  not 
to  enter.  He  tore  himself  away,  for  his 
thirst  was  strong,  and,  but  for  the  care  of  a 
stranger,  his  family  would  have  perished. 

"  We  went  on,  and,  father,  a  citizen  of  no- 
ble air  and  majestic  form  descended  the 
wide  steps  of  his  fine  mansion.  His  wife  put 
back  the  curtains,  and  watched  him  eagerly 
and  wishfully,  as  he  rode  away.  She  was 
very,  very  lovely,  fairer  than  any  lady  of  the 
court,  but  the  shadow  of  a  sad  heart  was  fast 
falling  on  her  beauty.  We  saw  her  gaze 
around  upon  the  desolate  splendor  of  her 
saloon,  and  then  clasp  her  hands  in  the  wild 
agony  of  despair.  When  we  returned,  her 
husband  lay  helpless  on  a  couch,  and  she  sat 
weeping  beside  him. 

"  Once  more  we  paused.    A  carriage  stood 


10  THE    SILVER    CUP 

before  a  palace.  It  was  rich  with  burnished 
gold,  and  the  armorial  bearings  of  a  duke 
were  visible  in  the  moonbeams.  We  waited 
for  its  owner  to  alight,  but  he  did  not  move, 
and  he  gave  no  orders.  Soon  the  servants 
came  crowding  out.  Sorrowfully  they  lifted 
him  in  their  arms,  and  I  saw  that  some  of 
the  jewels  were  torn  from  his  mantle,  and 
his  plumed  cap  was  crashed  and  soiled,  as  if 
by  the  pressure  of  many  footsteps.  They 
bore  him  into  the  palace,  and  I  wondered  if 
his  duchess  wept  like  the  beautiful  wife  of 
the  citizen. 

"As  I  looked  on  all  this,  my  tutor  told  me 
that  it  was  the  work  of  the  red  wine,  which 
leaps  gaily  up,  and  laughs  over  its  victims, 
in  demon  merriment.  I  shuddered,  father, 
and  resolved  never  again  to  taste  it,  lest  I, 
too,  should  fall.  But  your  word  is  law  to 
me.  Shall  I  drain  the  cup  ? " 

The  duke  looked  wonderingly  upon  his 
first  born,  and  then  placing  his  hand,  gravely 
yet  fondly,  upon  his  head,  answered  : 

"  No,  my  son,  touch  it  not.     It  is  poison 
as  thy  tutor  told  thee.     It  fires  the  brain, 


OF    SPAKKLlttG    DROPS.  11 

du*kens  the  intellect,  destroys  tlie  soul.  Put 
it  away  from  thee,  and  so  thou  shalt  grow  up 
wise  and  good,  a  blessing  to  thyself  and  to 
thy  country." 

He  glanced  around  the  circle.  Surprise 
and  admiration  were  on  every  face,  and, 
moved  by  the  same  impulse,  all  arose,  while 
one  of  their  number  spoke  : 

"Thou  hast  done  nobly,  boy,"  he  said, 
"  and  thy  rebuke  shall  not  soon  be  forgotten. 
We  have  congratulated  thy  father  upon  the 
acquisition  of  honors,  which  may  pass  with 
the  passing  season.  We  now  congratulate 
him  upon  that  best  of  all  possessions,  a  son 
worthy  of  France,  and  of  himself." 

The  haughty  courtiers  bowed  a  glowing 
assent,  and  each  clasped  the  hand  of  the  boy. 
But  the  father  took  him  to  his  heart,  and 
even  now,  among  the  treasured  relics  of  the 
family,  is  numbered  that  silver  cup. 


THE    SILVER    CUP 


nb  $inu  anb 


BY   LUCIUS   M.   SARGENT. 


IT  must  be  nearly  midnight,  thought  I,  as 
I  walked  rapidly  along.  I  had  traveled  full 
fourteen  miles.  The  rain  descended  in  tor- 
rents ;  and,  finding  ready  admittance,  at  a 
farmer's  barn,  I  climbed  upon  a  hay-mow, 
and  threw  myself  down,  thoroughly  wet, 
weary,  and  sleepless. — What  an  awful  vis- 
itor it  is,  thought  I,  at  the  poor  cottager  s 
fireside !  How  forcible  and  true  are  the 
words  of  Holy  Writ.  If  wine  be  "  a  mocker," 
in  the  castles  of  the  rich,  —  among  the  habi- 
tations of  the  poor,  "  strong  drink  is  raging." 
There  was  I,  at  the  age  of  sixteen,  turning 
my  back  upon  my  birth-place,  upon  my  home, 
upon  a  mother  and  sister,  whom  I  tenderly 
loved.  —  As  the  recollection  of  all  they  had 
endured  already,  and  the  anticipation  of  their 
future  sufferings  rushed  upon  my  mind,  I  had 
almost  resolved  to  return  :  but,  alas  !  what 
could  I  oppose  to  the  ungovernable  fury  of 


OF    SPABKLIKO    DBOPS.  13 

an  unkind  husband  and  an  apostate  father ! 
No,  thought  I,  I  will  fly  from  that,  which  I 
can  neither  prevent  nor  endure.  I  will  seek 
my  bread  among  strangers.  By  the  kind 
providence  of  Him,  who  hath  prr\mised  to 
be  the  Father  of  the  fatherless,  and  such,  in 
reality,  I  am,  I  may  win,  by  honest  industry, 
the  means  of  bringing  comfort  to  her  'vho 
bore  me,  when  my  father's  intemperance  and 
prodigality  shall  have  made  havoc  of  all  that 
remains ;  and  when  the  last  acre  of  the  home- 
stead shall  have  passed  into  the  rum-seller's 
hands.  My  resolution  was  fixed.  Sleep  was 
gathering  over  my  eyelids.  I  got  upon  my 
knees  to  commit  myself  to  God  in  prayer. 
I  could  scarcely  give  form  to  my  scattered 
thoughts  ;  —  it  seemed,  under  the  condition 
of  high  excitement,  in  which  I  then  was,  that 
my  father  was  before  me,  enraged  at  my  de- 
parture, and  demanding  who  had  taught  me 
to  pray.  It  was.  he  himself,  who  first  set  me 
upon  my  knees,  and  placed  my  infant  hands 
together,  and  put  right  words  into  my  mouth, 
and  bade  me  ask  of  God  to  put  right  thoughts 
into  my  heart.  How  often  he  had  led  his 


14  THE    SILVER    CUP 

little  household  in  morning  and  evening 
prayer  !  How  often,  as  we  walked  to  God's 
house,  in  company  together,  had  he  led  the 
way  !  How  constantly,  in  our  daily  labors, 
had  he  conducted  our  thoughts  to  serious 
contemplation,  by  some  sensible  and  devout 
allusion  to  those  employments,  in  which  we 
were  .engaged  !  Lost  and  gone,  degraded 
and  changed,  he  was  ;  but  he  had  been  once 
a  kind  father,  a  tender  husband,  a  generous 
neighbor,  a  faithful  friend,  a  pious  and  a 
professing  Christian. 

Rum  and  ruin,  hand  in  hand,  had  entered 
our  dwelling  together.  The  peace  of  our 
fireside  was  gone.  The  rum-seller  had  laid 
my  poor,  misguided  father  under  the  bonds 
of  an  unrelenting  and.  fatal  appetite  ;  he  had 
won  away  the  little  children's  bread ;  and 
converted  our  once  happy  home  into  an 
earthly  hell,  whose  only  portal  of  exit  was 
the  silent  grave. 

It  was  very  evident  to  me,  that  we  were 
going  to  destruction.  My  father's  interest  in 
the  welfare  of  us  all,  was  at  an  end.  Debts 
were  accumulating  fast.  His  farm  was  heavily 


OF    SPAKKLING    DROPS.  15 

mortgaged.  His  habits,  long  before,  tad  com- 
pelled tlie  church  to  exclude  him  from  the 
communion  ;  and  the  severest  abuse  was  the 
certain  consequence,  whenever  my  poor,  old 
mother  went  singly  to  the  table  of  her  Lord. 
I  could  have  borne  my  father's  harsh  treat- 
ment of  myself  and  of  my  poor  sister  Kachel; 
but  he  returned  home,  at  last,  constantly  in- 
toxicated ;  and,  when  opposed  in  any  thing, 
proceeded  to  swear,  and  rave,  and  break  the 
furniture,  and  abuse  my  old  mother,  who 
bore  it  all,  with  the  patience  of  a  saint ;  —  I 
made  up  my  mind,  that  I  c,ould  stand  it  no 
longer. 

I  waited  cautiously,  for  a  favorable  oppor- 
tunity, and  asked  my  father's  permission  to 
go  to  sea.  He  flew  into  a  terrible  rage.  The 
next  morning  he  seemed  to  be  in  a  better 
frame  of  mind,  and,  as  I  was  chopping  wood 
before  the  door,  he  asked  me  of  his  own  ac- 
cord, what  had  induced  me  to  wish  to  leave 
home,  and  go  to  sea.  I  hesitated,  for  some 
time ;  but,  as  he  urged  me  to  speak  out,  and, 
at  the  same  time,  appeared  to  be  much  calmer 
than  usual ;  —  "  Father,"  said  I,  u  it  kills  me 


16  THE    SILVER    CUP 

to  see  you  and  hear  you  talk  and  act  so  badly 
to  poor  mother."  —  He  flew  into,  a  greater 
rage  than  before,  and  bade  me  never  open 
my  mouth  upon  the  subject  again. 

Thus  matters  continued  to  progress,  from 
bad  to  worse.  Love  is  said  not  to  stand  still. 
This  saying  is  manifestly  true  in  regard  to 
the  love  of  strong  drink. 

Our  domestic  misery  continued  to  increase, 
from  week  to  week.  There  were  intervals, 
in  which,  my  father  was  more  like  himself, 
more  like  the  good",  kind  parent  and  hus- 
band, whose  out  goings,  in  the  morning,  had 
been  a  source  of  affectionate  regret,  and 
whose  incomings,  at  night,  had  been  a  sub- 
ject of  joy  to  the  wife  of  his  bosom  and  the 
children  of  his  loins.  I  have  seen  the  faint 
smile  of  satisfaction  brighten  upon  my  poor 
mother's  pale  features,  upon  such  occasions  ; 
and  I  have  marked  the  sigh,  half  suppressed, 
which  told  the  secret  of  an  agonized  spirit, 
and  which  seemed  to  say,  How  precious,  how 
brief  is  this  little  interval  of  joy ! 

It  was  indeed  like  the  parting  sunbeam, 
the  last,  lingering  light  of  a  summer  day, 


OF    SPARKLING    DROPS.  17 

which  plays  upon  the  cold  grave,  where  the 
treasure  and  the  heart  are  destined  to  slumber 
together. 

In  such  an  example  of  domestic  wretched- 
ness as  ours,  the  operation  of  cause  and  effect 
was  perfectly  intelligible.  Rum  excited  into 
action  all  that  was  contentious  in  the  nature 
of  ray  parent.  A  keen  perception  of  his  own 
blarneworthiness,  notwithstanding  the  stupe- 
•rying  tendency  of  the  liquor  he  had  drunken, 
increased  the  irritability  of  his  temper.  A 
word,  look,  or  gesture,  from  any  member  of 
the  household,  which  indicated  the  slightest 
knowledge  of  his  unhappy  condition,  when 
he  returned,  at  night,  under  the  influence 
of  strong  drink,  was  surely  interpreted  into 
an  intentional  affront.  He  would  often  anti- 
cipate reproof;  and,  as  it  were,  repay  it 
beforehand,  by  the  harshness  of  his  manners. 

The  habit  of  drinking,  which  is  invariably 
the  prolific  mother  of  sin  and  sloth,  wretched- 
ness and  rags,  is  sure  to  be  maintained  and 
kept  alive,  by  the  beggarly  progeny,  to  which 
it  has  given  birth.  Whenever  my  unhappy 
father  was  dunned  for  the  interest  on  his 


18  TJ1E811,VKRCUP 

mortgage,  or  any  other  debt,  which,  at  last,  he 
had  no  means  to  pay,  he  was  in  the  habit, 
almost  mechanically,  as  soon  as  the  creditor 
had  departed,  of  turning  to  the  jug  of  rum, 
for  relief  and  oblivion. 

The  gloom  and  ill-nature,  which  had  hith- 
erto been  occasionally  interspersed  with  exhi- 
bitions of  kindlier  feelings  to  us  all,  appeared 
to  have  become  unvarying  and  fixed.  There 
was  less  and  less,  from  week  to  week,  of  an 
April  sky.  All  was  chill  and  drear,  like 
November.  One  evening,  my  mother  and 
sister  had  been  busily  engaged,  as  usual,  in 
such  housewifery,  as  might  best  contribute 
to  keep  our  poor  wreck  of  a  domicil  together, 
as  long  as  possible.  I  had  learned  to  write  a 
fair  hand,  and  was  engaged  in  copying  some 
papers,  for  our  squire,  who  paid  me  by  the 
sheet.  It  had  gotten  to  be  nearly  ten  o'clock. 
My  mother  put  on  her  spectacles,  and,  open- 
ing the  Bible,  began  to  read.  Rachel  and  I 
sat  by  the  fire,  listening  to  the  words  of 
truth  and  soberness.  My  poor  mother  had 
fallen  upon  a  portion  of  Scripture,  which, 
from  its  applicability  to  her  own  situation 


OF    SPARKLING    DEOPS.  19 

and  that  of  her  children,  had  affected  her 
feelings,  and  the  tears  were  in  her  eyes,  when 
the  loud  tramp  upon  the  door-step  announced* 
the  return  of  my  father.  His  whole  appear- 
ance was  unusually  ominous  of  evil.  My 
mother  stirred  the  fire,  and  I  placed  him  a 
chair,  which  he  kicked  over,  and  threw  him- 
self down  upon  the  bed,  and  called  for  supper. 
Mother  told  him,  in  a  gentle  manner,  that 
there  was  nothing  in  the  house  but  some 
bread.  He  told  her  she  lied,  and  swore  ter- 
ribly. She  sat  silently  by  the  fire ;  —  I 
looked  up  in  her  face  :  —  she  wept,  but  said 
nothing.  "  Don  7t  cry  so,  dear  mother,"  said 
Rachel.  —  "Wife,"  said  my  father,  setting 
upon  the  edge  of  the  bed,  "  when  will  you 
leave  off  crying  ? "  —  "  Whenever  you  leave 
off  drinking,  husband,"  replied  my  mother  in 
her  kindest  manner.  My  father  sprang  up, 
in  a  hurricane  of  wrath,  and  with  a  dreadful 
oath,  hurled  a  chair  at  my  mother's  head.  I 
sprang  forward,  and  received  its  full  force 
upon  my  shoulder.  Rachel  and  my  mother 
fled  to  a  neighbor's  house,  and  my  father 
struck  me  several  blows  with  his  feet  and 


20  THE    SILVER    CUP 

fists ;  and,  as  I  made  my  escape,  I  left  Mm 
dashing  the  furniture  to  pieces,  with  the  fury 
'of  a  madman.—  I  rushed  forth  to  seek  shelter 
amid  the  driving  storm  —  from  the  tempest 
of  a  drunken  father's  wrath.  I  went,  as 
speedily  as  possible,  to  the  squire's  house, 
and  begged  him  to  take  compassion  on  my 
poor  mother  and  sister.  Having  received  his 
promise,  that  he  would  go  instantly  over  to 
our  cottage,  I  took  the  resolution,  which  I 
have  already  stated. 

After  I  had  passed  a  comfortless  night  in 
the  farmer's  barn,  I  pushed  forward  to  the 
city.  I  had  a  trifle  of  change  in  my  pocket ; 
I  bought  a  biscuit  of  a  traveling  baker,  and 
I  had  no  relish  for  any  other  than  the  bever- 
age of  God's  appointment,  which  was  near  at 
hand.  When  I  reached  the  city,  I  directed 
my  course  to  one  of  the  wharves,  and  found 
no  difficulty,  as  I  was  unusually  stout  for  my 
years,  in  obtaining  a  voyage,  as  a  green  hand, 
in  a  ship  bound  to  China.  Three  days  passed, 
before  the  ship  sailed.  I  wrote  to  my  mother 
and  sister,  bidding  them  keep  up  their  spirits, 
and  put  their  trust,  as  I  did,  in  the  God  of 


OF    SPARKLING    DROPS.  21 

the  widow  and  the  fatherless,  for  such,  and 
even  worse,  was  our  condition.  I  asked  them 
to  say  to  father,  when  he  was  sober,  that,  al- 
though I  scarcely  expected  to  see  him  again 
in  this  world,  I  freely  forgave  all  his  ill- 
treatment  to  myself. 

I  worked  hard  and  strove  to  please  the 
captain.  I  soon  found  that  plowing  the  sea 
was  a  very  different  affair  from  plowing  the 
land.  I  had  a  good  constitution,  and  a  cheer- 
ful temper.  I  had  been  taught,  at  all  times, 
by  my  dear  mother,  and  by  my  poor,  un- 
happy father,  also,  till  he  became  intemperate, 
to  put  the  fullest  confidence  in  the  promises 
of  God.  When  we  arrived  in  China,  though 
we  had  shipped  out  and  home,  the  voyage 
was  broken  up,  and  the  ship  sold.  The  cap- 
tain settled  with  the  crew  to  their  entire 
satisfaction  ;  and  I  shall  always  be  grateful 
for  his  kindness  to  me.  He  got  me  a  voyage 
to  England.  I  laid  out  my  wages  by  his  ad- 
vice. I  could  not  have  followed  a  shrewder 
counselor.  He  was  born  and  bred,  so  far  as 
regards  his  land  learning,  in  one  of  the  most 
thrifty  villages  in  Connecticut.  We  had  a 


THE    8ILVEE    CUP 

most  boisterous  voyage  from  Canton  to  Liver- 
pool ;  but,  whenever  I  pulled  a  rope,  I  always 
pulled  a  little  harder  for  the  sake  of  my  old 
mother  and  sister  Rachel.  —  I  had  saved 
every  penny  of  my  wages,  that  I  could  lay 
by,  and  my  little  investment  in  Canton  turned 
out  far  beyond  my  expectations.  I  do  not 
think  I  was  avaricious ;  but  I  felt  it  to  be  my 
duty,  under  existing  circumstances,  to  save 
my  earnings  for  my  honored  mother.  Never- 
theless, I  felt  myself  authorized  to  indulge 
in  one  luxury,  at  least ;  so,  upon  my  arrival 
in  Liverpool,  I  went  into  the  first  bookstore 
and  bought  me  a  pocket  Bible. 

Five  years  had  now  gone  by,  in  which  I 
had  sailed  many  thousands  of  miles,  and  vis- 
ited various  corners  of  the  world.  During 
this  period,  I  had  gotten  together  a  larger 
sum  of  money,  than  I  ever  expected  to  pos- 
sess at  twenty-one ;  besides  having  made 
several  remittances  to  the  squire,  for  my  old 
mother's  use,  to  whom  I  wrote  upon  every 
convenient  opportunity.  They  all  came  to 
hand,  as  I  afterward  learned,  saving  one,  in 
gold,  which  went  to  bottom,  with  poor  Tom 


OF    SPARKLING    DKOPS.  23 

Johnson,  who  was  lost  at  sea.  If  I  was  for- 
tunate enough  to  save  my  hard  earnings,  just 
let  me  say,  for  the  advantage  of  every  brother 
sailor,  that  there  are  four  things  which  I 
never  did ;  I  never  suffered  a  drop  of  grog  to 
go  down  my  hatches,  blow  high  or  blow  low ; 
I  never  rolled  a  stinking  weed,  like  a  sweet 
morsel,  under  my  tongue  ;  I  never  crossed 
hands  with  a  drunken  landlord  ;  and  I  never 
bore  away  from  a  poor  fellow,  whose  ham- 
mock was  harder  than  my  own. 

My  five  years'  absence  from  home  might 
have  extended  to  fifty,  but  for  many  re- 
collections of  my  mother  and  sister,  which 
became  more  forcible,  from  day  to  day.  My 
remembrance  of  my  father  was  of  the  most 
painful  character:  the  very  recollection  of 
his  tenderness,  in  the  days  of  my  childhood, 
which  often  brought  tears  into  my  eyes, 
served  only  to  render  the  image  of  a  cruel 
and  degraded  parent  more  frightful  and  re- 
volting. 

I  had  shipped,  about  this  time,  on  board 
the  Swiftsure,  from  London  to  Oporto.  One 
afternoon,  two  or  three  of  us,  a  day  or  two 


S4  THE    SILVER    CUP 

before  the  ship  sailed,  had  strolled  over  the 
south  side  of  the  Thames,  to  look  at  the 
king's  dockyards  at  Deptfbrd.  As  I  was 
rambling  among  the  docks,  I  received  a  smart 
slap  on  the  shoulder,  and,  turning  suddenly 
round,  whom  should  I  see  but  old  Tom  John- 
son, an  honest  fellow  as  ever  broke  bread  or 
wore  a  tarpaulin  !  He  was  born  in  our  vil- 
lage ;  had  followed  the  sea  for  nearly  forty 
years  ;  and,  once  in  the  course  of  three  or 
four,  he  contrived  to  find  his  way  to  the  old 
spot,  and  spend  a  few  days  in  the  valley 
where  he  was  born.  —  "  Why,  Bob,"  said  he, 
"  1 'm  heartily  glad  to  see  you,  my  lad  ;  so 
you  Ve  taken  leg  bail  of  the  old  folks,  and 
turned  rover,  in  good  earnest,  ey  ? "  —  I  told 
him,  I  hoped  he  did  n't  think  I  'd  left  my  old 
mother  to  shirk  for  herself,  in  her  old  age.  — 
"  Not  a  jot,"  replied  the  old  sailor  ;  "  Squire 
Seely  has  told  me  the  whole  story,  and  says 
he  has  put  the  sweat  of  your  brow,  more 
than  once  or  twice  either,  into  the  old  lady's 
hand,  and  made  her  old  weather-beaten  heart 
leap  for  joy,  to  hear  you  was  so  thoughtful  a 
lad.  I  saw  your  mother  about  a  year  ago, 


OF    SFAEKLING    BED  PS,  25 

your  sister  Rachel. "  —  I  shook  old  Tom 
Johnson  by  the  hand ;  I  could  not  restrain 
my  feelings,  for  this  was  the  first  news  I  had 
received  from  home,  for  more  than  five 
years.  —  "Gome,  Bob,"  said  the  old  fellow, 
"*'  do  n't  be  for  opening  your  scuppers  and 
making  crooked  faces  ;  though  it  blows  hard 
enough  now,  it  may  get  to  be  calm  weather 
^affcer  all."  —  "  How  is  my  father  doing  now  ?w 
I  enquired. —  "  Why,  as  to  that,"  answered 
Tom  Johnson,  "  it 's  about  a  twelvemonth 
since  I  was  thera  I  told  the  old  lady  I 
might  cross  your  hawse  in  some  part  of  the 
world.  She  has  a  rough  time  of  it,  my  boy. 
The  old  man  holds  on  to  mischief,  like  a 
heavy  kedge  in  a  clay  bottom.  The  cold 
water  folks  began,  about  a  year  ago,  to 
scatter  their  seed  in  the  village,  in  the  shape 
of  tracts,  and  tales,  and  newspapers.  Some 
of  them  were  thrown  at  your  father's  door, 
and  at  the  door  of  old  Deacon  Flint,  the  dis- 
tiller. There,  as  you  may  suppose,  the  seed 
fell  in  stony  places.  Your  father  was  in  a 
great  rage,  and  swore  he'd  shoot  the  first 
person,  'that  left  another  of  their  rascally 


26  THE    SILVER    GUI 

publications  before  his  door.  I'i/\  afraid  it 
will  be  a  long  while,  my  lad,  before  the  tern- 
perance  folks  get  the  weather  gage  of  the 
rum-sellers,  and  ruin-drinkers,  in  our  village. 
They  have  had  a  miserable  seed  time,  and 
the  Devil  and  Deacon  Flint,  I  am  afraid,  will 
have  the  best  of  the  harvest." 

As  Tom  Johnson  was  to  sail,  in  about  a 
week,  for  the  United  States,  I  sent  by  him  a 
few  lines  of  comfort  and  a  small  remittance 
for  my  mother.  As  I  have  already  statedr 
they  never  reached  the  place  of  their  desti- 
nation. The  Oranoke,  of  which  this  poor 
fellow  was  first  mate,  foundered  at  sea,  and 
the  whole  crew  perished. 

After  our  arrival  at  Oporto,  the  crew  of 
the  Swiftsure  were  discharged  ;  and,  finding 
a  favorable  chance,  I  shipped  for  Phila- 
delphia, where  we  arrived,  after  an  extremely 
short  and  prosperous  passage.  —  I  directed 
my  course,  once  more,  toward  my  native 
hamlet.  My  feelings  were  of  the  most  pain- 
ful and  perplexing  character.  In  accumu- 
lated years,  and  even  in  the  little  property,, 
which  I  had  gathered,  I  felt  conscious  of 


OF    SPARKLING    DKOPS.  27 

something  like  a  power  and  influence ;  which, 
by  God's  grace,  I  hoped  to  exert  for  the 
protection  of  my  mother.  Yet  when  I  re- 
collected the  ungovernable  violence  of  my 
father's  temper,  under  the  stimulus  of  liquor, 
I  almost  despaired  of  success.  At  any  rate, 
I  could  behold  the  face  of  her  who  bore  me, 
and  receive  her  blessing  once  more  before 
she  died. 

Having  sent  my  luggage  forward,  I  per- 
formed a  considerable  part  of  my  journey  on 
foot.  I  had  arrived  in  the  village,  adjoining 
our  own.  I  paused,  for  an  instant,  to  look  at 
the  barn,  in  which,  five  years  before,  I  had 
passed  a  most  miserable  night.  It  brought 
before  me,  with  a  painful  precision,  the  mel- 
ancholy record  of  the  past.  Every  mile  of 
my  lessening  way  abated  something  of  that 
confidence,  which  I  had  occasionally  cher- 
ished, of  being  the  instrument,  under  Godx  of 
bringing  happiness  again  into  the  dwelling  of 
my  wretched  parents. 

I  had  arrived  within  two  miles  of  the  little 
river,  which  forms  one  of  the  boundary  lines 
of  our  village.  I  wa^  passing  a  little  groceiy, 


28  THE    SILVER    CUP 

or  tipplery,  and,  standing  at  the  door,  I  re- 
cognized the  very  individual,  who  formerly 
kept  the  grog-shop  in  our  town,  and  from 
whom  my  father  had  purchased  his  rum,  for 
many  years.  Although  it  was  already  gray 
twilight,  I  knew  him  immediately  ;  and,  how- 
ever painful  to  approach  a  person,  in  whom  I 
could  not  fail  to  behold  the  destroyer  of  my 
father,  I  could  not  repress  my  earnest  desire 
to  learn  something  of  my  family.  I  accosted 
him,  and  he  remembered  me  at  once.  His 
manners  were  those  of  a  surly  and  dissatis- 
fied man.  In  reply  to  my  enquiries,  he  in- 
formed me,  that  my  parents  and  my  sister 
were  alive,  and  added,  with  a  sneer,  that  my 
father  had  set  up  for  a  cold-water  man 
"  but,"  continued  he,  with  a  forced  and  spite 
ful  laugh,  "it  will  take  him  all  his  days,  ] 
guess,  to  put  off  the  old  man  :  they  that  have 
gotten  the  relish  of  my  rum,  are  not  so  very 
apt  to  change  it  for  cold  water."  —  Upon  fur- 
ther enquiry,  I  ascertained,  that  there  had 
been  a  temperance  movement  in  our  village  ; 
and  that  the  seed,  as  poor  Tom  Johnson  said, 
had  been  scattered  there,  with  an  unsparing 


OF    SPAEKLING    DEOPS.  29 

hand.  I  also  gathered  the  information  from 
this  ruin-seller,  that  the  selectmen  had  re- 
fused to  approbate  any  applicant  for  a  license 
to  sell  ardent  spirit  in  our  village  ;  and  that 
he,  himself,  had  therefore  been  obliged  to 
quit  his  old  stand,  and  take  the  new  one, 
which  he  now  occupied. 

I  turned  from  the  dram-seller's  door  and 
proceeded  on  my  way.  It  was  quite  dark ; 
but  the  road  was  familiar  to  my  feet.  It  af- 
forded me  unspeakable  pleasure  to  learn,  that 
my  mother  and  sister  were  alive  and  well. 
But  I  was  exceedingly  perplexed,  by  the 
rum-seller's  statement  in  relation  to  my  father. 
Can  it  be  possible,  thought  I,  that  he  has  be- 
come a  cold-water  man?  How  true  is  the 
rum-seller's  remark,  that  few,  who  have  got- 
ten a  taste  of  his  rum,  are  apt  to  change  it 
for  cold  water  !  For.  more  than  twelve  years, 
my  father  had  been  an  intemperate  man  ; 
and,  even  if  he  had  abandoned  ardent  spirit, 
for  a  time,  how  little  reliance  could  be  -placed 
upon  a  drunkard's  reformation !  Besides, 
Tom  Johnson  had  expressly  stated,  that  my 


30  THE    SILVER    CUP 

father  had  been  exceedingly  hostile  to  the 
temperance  movement,  from  the  beginning. 

With  these  and  similar  reflections,  niy 
mind  continued  to  be  occupied,  until  I  en- 
tered our  village.  It  was  about  half  past 
nine,  when  I  came  within  a  few  rods  of  the 
old  cottage.  A  light  was  still  gleaming  forth 
from  the  window.  I  drew  slowly  and  silently 
near  to  the  door.  —  I  thought  I  heard  a 
voice.  I  listened  attentively.  —  It  was  my 
father's.  —  My  mother  appeared  not  to  reply  : 
such  was  her  constant  habit,  whenever,  un- 
der the  influence  of  liquor,  he  gave  a  loose 
rein  to  his  tongue,  and  indulged  in  unkind 
and  abusive  language.  — I  drew  still  nearer — 
and,  passing  softly  into  the  entry,  I  listened 
more  attentively,  at  the  inner  door.  —  Can  it 
be  possible !  thought  I.  —  He  was  engaged 
in  prayer  !  in  fervent  and  pious  prayer.  — 
He  prayed,  with  a  trembling  voice,  for  the 
restoration  of  an  absent  son  !  —  There  was 
a  pause.  From  the  movement  within,  it  was 
evident  they  had  risen  from  their  knees.  —  I 
gently  raised  the  latch,  and  opened  the  door. 


OF    SP-AKKLING    DEO  PS.  31 

The   father,   the   mother,   the   brother,   the 

mister,  were  locked  in  the  arms  of  one  an- 

7 

-other !  —  My  regenerated  old  father  fell 
once  more  upon  his  knees ;  we  all  followed 
his  example  ;  and  before  a  word  of  congrat- 
ulation had  passed  from  one  to  the  other,  he 
poured  forth  such  a  touching  strain  of  thanks- 
giving and  praise  to  the  Giver  of  every  good 
^and  perfect  gift,  for  my  safe  return,  as  would 
iave  melted  the  heart  of  the  most  obdurate 
•offender.  It  came  directly  from  the  heart  of 
a  truly  penitent  sinner,  and  it  went  straight- 
way to  the  God  of  mercy.  —  I  gazed  upon 
my  poor  old  father.  It  seemed  like  the  mo- 
xal  resurrection  of  one,  already  dead  and 
buried,  in  his  trespasses  and  sins. —  I  glanced 
rapidly  about  me  :  all  was  peace,  all  was  or- 
der ;  where  all  had  been  strife  and  confusion 
before.  The  rum-jug  no  longer  occupied  its 
.accustomed  place  upon  the  table  :  —  the  ex- 
panded volume  of  eternal  life  was  there  in  its 
stead ! 

I  gazed  with  inexpressible  joy,  upon  the 
liappy  faces  about  me  ;  my  father,  to  all  out- 
ward appearance,  such  as  he  had  been  in 


32  THE    SILYER    OFF" 

better  days,  sitting  in  silence,  and  evidently 
restraining  the  emotions^  his  soul ;  poor 
Rachel  upon  rny  knee,  her  features  bathed 
with  happy  tears ;  and  ray  dear  old  mothei 
turning  her  countenance,  full  of  gratitude 
and  love,  alternately  toward  Heaven  and 
upon  a  long  gone  child,  returned  at  last. 

Six  years  have  now  gone  by,  since  a  raei- 
ciful  God  softened  the  stubborn  soil  in  ray 
father's  heart.  The  seed  did  not  fall  alto- 
gether, as  Tom  Johnson  supposed,  upon  stony 
places.  Some  of  them  have  sprung  up,  as  in? 
our  highly-favored  heritage,  and  borne  fruit 
an  hundred  fold.  Let  us  thank  God,  then,, 
who  hath  enabled  us  abundantly  to  gather 
the  HARVEST  ;  for  peace  is  once  more  at  our 
fire-side  ;  the  wife  has  regained  he/  husbandr 
and  the  orphans  have  found  then  father.  — 
SARGENT'S  TEMPERANCE  TALES, 


OF    SPARKLING    DROPS.  33 


Irani  -Ifiotfrn. 

BY  MRS.  E.  0.  JUDSOX. 

THE  wild,  south-west  Monsoon  has  risen, 
With  broad,  gray  wings  of  gloom, 

While  here,  from  out  my  dreary  prison, 
I  look,  as  from  a  tomb  —  Alas ! 
My  heart  another  tomb. 

Upon  the  low-thatched  roof,  the  rain, 

With  ceaseless  patter,  falls  ; 
My  choicest  treasures  bear  its  stain  — 

Mold  gathers  on  the  walls  —  Would  Heaven 

'Twere  only  on  the  walls! 

Sweet  Mother!  I  am  here  alone^ 

In  sorrow,  and  in  pain; 
The  sunshine  from  my  heart  has  flown, 

It  feels  the  driving  rain  —  Ah,  me ! 

The  chill,  and  mold,  and  rain. 

Four  laggard  months  have  wheeled  their  round 

Since  love  upon  it  smiled  ; 
And  every  thing  of  earth  has  frowned 

On  thy  poor,  stricken  child — sweet  friend," 

Thy  weary,  suffering  child. 
2* 


34  THE    SILVER    CUP 

I  'd  watched  my  loved  one,  night  and  day, 
Scarce  breathing  when  he  slept  ; 

And  as  my  hopes  were  swept  away, 
I  'd  on  his  bosom  wept  —  0,  God ! 
How  had  I  prayed  and  wept! 

They  bore  him  from  me  to  the  ship, 

As  bearers  bear  the  dead; 
I  kissed  his  speechless,  quivering  lip, 

And  left  him  on  his  bed  —  Alas ! 

It  seemed  a  coffin-bed! 

When  from  my  gentle  sister's  tomb, 

In  all  our  grief,  we  came, 
Rememberest  thou  her  vacant  room? 

Well,  his  was  just  the  same,  that  day, 

The  very,  very  same. 

Then,  Mother,  little  Charley  came — 
Our  beautiful  fair  boy, 

With  my  own  Father's  cherished  name  — 
But  0,  he  brought  no  joy!  —  My  child 
Brought  mourning,  and  no  joy. 

His  little  grave  I  cannot  see, 

Though  weary  months  have  sped 

Since  pitying  lips  bent  over  me, 
•      And  whispered,  "He  is  dead!" — Alas! 
'Tis  dreadful  to  be  dead! 


<OF    SPARKLING    DROPS.  35 

I!  do  not  mean  for  one  like  me, 

—  So  weary,  worn,  and  weak, — 
Death's  shadowy  paleness  seems  to  be, 

Even  now,  upon  my  cheek  —  his  seal 
On  form,  and  brow,  and  cheek. 

But  for  a  bright-winged  bird  like  him, 

To  hush  his  joyous  song, 
And  prisoned,  in  a  coffin  dim, 

Join  Death's  pale,  phantom  throng  —  My  boy 

To  join  that  grizzly  throng! 

O,  Mother,  I  can  scarcely  bear 

To  think  of  tkis  to-day! 
It  was  so  exquisitely  fair, 

—  That  little  form  of  clay  —  my  heart 
Still  lingers  by  his  clay. 

And  when  for  one  loved  far,  far  more, 

Came  thickly  gathering  tears, 
My  star  of  faith  is  clouded  o'er, 

I  sink  beneath  my  fears — sweet  friend, 

My  heavy  weight  of  fears. 

O,  should  he  not  return  to  me, 
Drear,  drear  must  be  life's  night! 

And,  Mother,  I  can  almost  see, 

Even  now  the  gathering  blight — my  soul 
Faints,  stricken  by  the  blight.  * 


36  CtHE    SILVEK    CtTF 

O,  but  to  feel  thy  fond  arms  twine 

Around  me,  once  again ! 
It  almost  seems  those  lips  of  thine 

Might  kiss  away  the  pain  —  might  soothe* 

This  dull,  cold,  heavy  pain. 

But,  gentle  Mother,  through  life's  storms, 

I  may  not  lean  on  thee, 
For  helpless,  cowering  little  forms 

Cling  trustingly  to  me  —  Poor  babes  I 

To  have  no  guide  but  me! 

"With  weary  foot,  and  broken  wing, 
With  bleeding  heart,  and  sore, 

Thy  Dove  looks  backward,  sorrowing, 
But  seeks  the  ark  no  more  —  thy  breast 
Seeks  never,  never  more. 

Sweet  Mother,  for  the  wanderer  pray, 
That  loftier  faith  be  given; 

Her  broken  reeds  all  swept  away, 

That  she  may  lean  on  Heaven — her  soul 
Grow  strong  on  Christ  and  Heaven. 

All  fearfully,  all  tearfully, 

Alone  and  sorrowing, 
My  dim  eye  lifted  to  the  sky, 

Fast  to  the  cross  I  cling — 0,  Christ! 
%   To  thy  dear  cross  I  cling. 


OF    SPARKLING    DKOPS.  37 


BY   H.  R.  TAYLOB. 

There's  a  brightly  lucent  river 

Flowing  gently,  beauty-drest, 
And  a  thousand  leaflets  quiver 

In  the  breeze  that  courts  its  breast. 
Far  on  a  hill  its  fountains  leap, 

The  groveling  world  above; 
The  hill  is  Faith,  (sublimest  steep,) 

And  the  river's  source  is  Love. 

And  charming  banks,  all  verdure-clad, 

On  either  hand  are  seen, 
Which  render  every  bosom  glad, 

With  their  lovely,  fadeless  green. 
These  banks  that  bound  the  mystic  stream, 

Gladden  the  Sage  and  Youth, 
And  pleasing  like  a  happy  dream, 

Are  types  of  Friendship  and  of  Truth. 

Innumerable  flowers  give 

Their  perfume  to  the  gale, — 
Which  the  mild  voyagers  receive, 

As  they  travel  down  the  vale. 
They  serve  to  mark  the  calm  delights 


38  THE    SILVER    CUP 

That  friendship  can  impart; 
While  Memory  their  impress  writes 
On  the  tablet  of  their  heart. 

On  the  river's  bosom,  ever 

There  rests  a  peaceful  shade, 
And  its  tranquil  rest,  oh!  never 

Can  the  giddy  world  invade! 
There's  no  gloom  in  all  its  quiet, 

'  Tis  with  cheerful  objects  fraught  — 
(It  no  man's  been  known  to  buy  yet,) 

'  Tis  the  shade  of  chastened  Thought 

The  limpid  ripples  as  they  play 

For  ever  there  in  glee, 
A  likeness  to  the  mind  convey, 

Of  the  good  man's  Purity; 
No  darkened  thoughts  obscure  the  gleam 

Of  sunshine  in  this  heart, 
But  like  the  ripple  on  the  stream, 

He  gaily  bears  his  part 

There  white-sailed  barques  in  safety  glide, 

And  reek  nor  shrouds  nor  rope; 
Borne  by  the  breeze,  how  calm  they  ride- 

Those  little  barques  of  Hope, 
The  breeze  is  always;  though  we  feel 

Affliction's  heavy  rod, 
Its  balmy  touch  our  pain  shall  heal; 

The  breeze  is  the  breath  of  God! 


OF    SPARKLING    DROPS.  39 

Oh !  trace  that  river  to  its  source ; 

With  meek  enquiry  go,  — 
See  whence  its  glowing  waters  course, 

And  whitherward  they  flow; 
You  '11  find  its  springs  are  wells  eterne, 

Its  beauties  never  cease; 
And,  gliding  down  the  stream,  you'll  learn, 

Its  name  is  the  River  of  Peace. 


m  w  lope  for  tjj? 


IT  was  on  the  morning  succeeding  a  cold, 
stormy  night  of  November,  18- — ,  that  a 
stage  rattled  through  the  streets  of  the 
quiet  little  village  of  Roseland,  rousing  the 
slumbering  echoes  and  sleeping  inhabitants, 
and  drew  up  before  the  "  Traveler's  Home." 
Two  persons  alighted,  and,  giving  directions 
concerning  their  baggage,  entered  the  "  bar- 
room." A  bright,  blazing  fire  was  burning 
cheerily,  and  the  benumbed  travelers  lost  not 
a  moment  in  availing  themselves  of  the  vacant 
seats,  which  stood  so  invitingly  before  it. 


40  THE    SILVER    OTTP 

Mr.  STANLEY,  whose  "  frosted  locks,"  alone, 
gave  evidence  of  declining  years,  was  of  no- 
ble and  majestic  mien.  Old  time  liad  passed 
lightly  by  him,  and  left  not  his  impress  on 
the  broad  smooth  brow,  nor  destroyed  the 
pleasing  effect  of  the  benevolent  smile  that, 
ever  and  anon,  played  over  his  manly  features. 

The  dark,  lustrous  eye,  the  intellectual 
brow,  and  the  firm  expression  of  the  finely 
chiseled  mouth  of  HENRY  STANLEY  bespoke 
him  a  son,  not  unworthy  such  a  father.  Half 
an  hour  elapsed,  during  which  time  they  con- 
versed earnestly  and  pleasantly  together, 
when  the  door  opened,  and  a  man,  whose 
bloated  face,  and  staggering  air  fully  marked 
him,  the  drunkard,  entered,  and  stepped  di- 
rectly to  the  bar.  He  was  accosted  by  the 
attendant,  with, 

"  Well,  MORDUANT,  what  will  you  have, 
this  morning  ? " 

"  Oh,  any  thing,  Jenkins,  that  warms  the 
blood,  this  miserably  cold  day ; "  he  an- 
swered, shivering  as  he  spoke. 

Mr.  Stanley  arose  from  his  seat  at  the 
last  word,  and  approaching  Morduant,  as  he 


OF    SPARKLING    DROPS.  41 

raised  the  glass  to  his  lip,  laid  his  hand 
upon  his  arm.  Surprised  at  the  interruption, 
Morduant  paused,  and,  turning  quickly  round, 
beheld  Mr.  Stanley  gazing  upon  him,  with 
an  expression  of  mingled  sorrow  and  pity. 

"  Friend,"  said  he,  in  an  earnest,  but  kind 
tone,  "  you  are  selling  your  soul  at  a  fearful 
price  ! " 

There  was  that  in  the  manner  and  tone  of 
the  stranger,  which  caused  Morduant  to  start 
and  tremble,  but,  recovering,  he  angrily 
asked, 

"  And  who  are  you,  that  you  should  dictate 
to  me  ?  * 

"  A  friend,  who  would  save  you  from  ruin, 
and  the  drunkard's  grave ; "  mildly  replied 
Mr.  Stanley. 

Morduant  seemed  half  inclined  to  listen, 
but  there  were  those  present,  drinkers,  like 
himself,  and  boon  companions,  and  his  was 
no  spirit  to  be  convinced  of  error  before 
them.  He  became  very  angry,  uttered  a 
terrible  oath,  struck  his  clenched  hand  upon 
the  counter,  with  a  violence  that  threatened 
to  demolish  it,  then  saying,  in  a  voice  choked 


42  THE    SILVER    CUP 

•with  passion,  "  You  '11  repent  this,  sir ;" 
turned  upon  his  heel,*  and  strode  out  of  the 
room. 

Mr.  Stanley  sighed  deeply  as  he  joined  his 
son,  at  the  window.  They  watched  the  re- 
ceding form  of  Morduant,  and  saw  him  enter 
a  miserable  house,  far  up  the  street,  in  the 
outskirts  of  the  village. 

Mr.  Stanley  was  a  "  Son  of  Temperance,'7 
one  of  those  active  and  consistent  members 
of  the  Order,  who  never  omit  an  opportunity 
to  promote  the  great  cause  to  which  it  is  de- 
voted. He  was  seconded  and  assisted  in  his 
benevolent  efforts  by  his  son,  who  was  no  less 
active  than  himself,  though  it  was  only  a 
few  months  since  he  had  been  "  initiated." 

"  Henry,"  said  Mr.  Stanley,  with  much  em- 
phasis, after  a  long  pause  —  "  Henry,  I  have 
it.  This  is  the  very  place  for  a  4  Division  ;' 
and  I  will  go,  this  day,  and  see  if  there  are 
not  at  least  '  ten  men  to  save  the  city,'  and 
thus  obtain  a  Charter/ 

Henry  concurred,  joyfully,  and  they  began 
planning  their  business  for  the  day.  Break- 
fast was  soon  announced,  when  they  retired 


OF    SPARKLING    DROPS.  43 

to  the  little  back  parlor  of  the  inn,  where  we 
will  take  leave* of  them,  for  a  time,  and  ac- 
quaint our  readers  a  little  more  intimately 
with  Mr.  Morduant. 

Twenty  years  before  the  date  of  our  story, 
he  had  graduated  at college,  with  hon- 
ors. He  was  a  handsome  man,  with  fine 
taste,  and  brilliant  talents  —  was  a  connoiseur 
in  drawing  and  painting,  an  exquisite  per- 
former on  the  flute  and  guitar,  and  was 
acknowledged,  by  all,  to  be  a  most  elegant 
and  fascinating  fellow.  He  was  wealthy,  and 
hi  gratification  of  his  desires,  traveled  far  and 
wide,  wherever  fancy  pointed  the  way.  He 
had  stood  upon  Gibraltar's  Rock,  and  beheld 
the  scene  of  the  "  Moor's  last  sigh" — had  lin- 
gered on  the  banks  of  the  Tiber,  and  viewed 
the  "  city  of  the  seven  hills  "  had  traversed 
the  burning  plains  of  Egypt,  for  a  sight  of 
her  towering  pyramids,  and  turned  upon  his 
homeward  path  to  seek  for  pleasure  in  his 
native  land.  Here  he  became  intimate  with 
a  circle  of  unprincipled  young  men  of  dissi- 
pated habits.  They  saw  him  to  be  generous, 
and  thoughtless  of  expense,  and  were  not 


44  THE    SILVER    CUP     . 

long  in  ascertaining  the  extent  of  his  pro- 
perty, or  of  devising  means  for  transferring  it 
to  their  own  possession.  He  was  unsuspect- 
ing, and  too  fond  of  pleasure  to  see  their 
design,  and  they  led  him  on,  as  they  listed, 
until  he  was  ready  to  join  them  in  their 
wildest  revels. 

It  was  the  latter  part  of  summer,  as  they 
entered  upon  a  fishing  excursion,  and  tempo- 
rarily located  themselves  in  the  little  village 
of  Koseland,  which  was  delightfully  situated 
upon  a  broad,  stream.  Here  they  were  well 
pleased,  and  remained  some  weeks,  fishing,  as 
inclination  prompted,  and,  by  degrees,  in- 
troducing themselves  into  the  quiet,  but 
intellectual,  society  of  the  place.  Morduant 
had  never  been  much  captivated  by  fashion- 
able beauties,  they  were  too  much  of  his  own 
stamp  to  excite  great  interest  —  but  sweet 
Alice  Leslie  —  more  beautiful  than  the  most 
admired  city  belle,  with  such  simplicity,  such 
amiability,  so  much  good  sense,  and  refine- 
ment —  where  might  there  be  found  one  to 
compare  with  her  ?  and  why  should  not  his 
heart  be  captured  ?  He  thought  her  most 


OF    S^ABKLING    DftOPS.  45 

Wonderfully  fascinating,  and  gave  himself  up 
to  her  charms.  Alice  was  not  wealthy.  Her 
father  had  died  some  years  before,  leaving 
his  business  in  an  unsettled  state,  and  now 
she  and  her  mother  were  making  the  best  of 
a  bare  competency. 

Morduant  was  so  well  pleased  with  Alice 
that  he  lingered  many  weeks  at  Roseland, 
was  often  in  her  society,  and  determined  to 
win  her  for  his  bride.  He  was  not  unsuccess- 
ful in  his  suit,  and  ere  he  returned  to  the 
city,  they  had  plighted  their  faith,  with  full 
consent  of  the  widowed  mother.  He  wished 
to  take  her  at  once  to  the  city,  where,  he 
knew,  her  beauty  and  accomplishments,  uni- 
ted to  his  wealth,  would  secure  her  a  high 
place  in  society.  But  to  this,  neither  Mrs. 
Leslie  nor  Alice  could  be  induced  to  con- 
sent —  so  they  parted  for  a  time,  and  he 
went  alone  to  the  city,  to  make  definite  ar- 
rangements for  their  future  home,  where 
they  might  have  life's  best  luxuries  around 
them. 

Ere  long,  he  returned  to  Roseland.  He 
had  left  all  at  the  cottage  bright  and  cheer- 


46  THESILVEBCUP 

ful,  with  the  sunshine  of  hope  and  pros- 
perity —  but  a  heavy  cloud  had  passed  over, 
and  their  path  was  darkened.  Mrs.  Leslie 
had  been  rendered  helpless  by  a  paralytic 
stroke,  and  Alice  was  overwhelmed  with 
sorrow  and  anxiety.  Morduant  strove  to 
comfort  them.  He  had  nothing  but  good  to 
communicate.  He  had  succeeded  in  pur- 
chasing a  pleasant  little  villa,  just  out  of  the 
city  — had  given  directions  for  repairs  and 
improvements  throughout  the  house  and 
grounds — had  selected  his  furniture,  and 
procured  a  person  of  taste  and  judgment  to 
oversee  its  arrangement. 

Mrs.  Leslie's  faculties  were  unimpaired  by 
her  severe  visitation,  but  all  were  fearful  of 
another,  and  fatal  attack.  The  one  earnest 
desire  of  her  heart,  was  to  see  her  daughter 
united  to  Morduant,  before  she  died.  She 
urged  it  upon  her,  with  almost  childish  im- 
patience—  Morduant  seconded  her  wishes, 
with  an  urgency  that  would  take  no  denial, 
end  Alice  consented,  though  she  was  very 
sad.  Slight  preparations  were  made,  a  few 
choice  friends  invited  in,  and  the  blooming, 


OF    SPARKLING    DBOPS.  4? 

beautiful  Alice  became  the  bride  of  the 
wealthy  Morduant.  Directly  after  the  mar- 
riage ceremony,  with  a  smile  on  her  lip,  but 
a  tear  in  her  eye,  she  knelt  beside  the  sofa, 
where  reclined  her  helpless,  dying  mother, 
and  fervently  imprinted  upon  her  wan  cheek 
a  daughter's  bridal  kiss.  Morduant  followed 
her  example,  and,  with  an  effort  to  win  all 
from  sadness,  playfully  urged  that  he  loved 
her  quite  as  well  as  Alice,  and  claimed  the 
affection  and  standing  of  a  son,  for  all  after 
life. 

But  the  excitement  had  been  too  much  for 
Mrs.  Leslie,  and,  ere  the  few  sympathizing 
guests  departed,  the  dreaded,  fearful  stroke 
descended,  and  the  released  spirit  was  borne 
to  its  home  on  high. 

Time  passed  on  —  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Morduant 
repaired  to  their  new  home,  and  the  sorrow- 
ful heart  of  Alice  was  cheered  by  the  kind- 
ness and  affection  ,of  the  husband  that  she 
loved.  He  had  surrounded  her  with  com- 
forts, and  with  luxuries,  until  nothing  earthly 
was  left  for  the  heart  to  desire.  She  was  a 
happy  wife;  and,  as  Morduant  saw  her  ming- 


48  THE    SILVER    CUP   . 

ling  in  the  gay  society  of  the  city,  never  was 
there  a  prouder  husband.  And  they  received 
a  new  tie  to  bind  them  together,  and  to  their 
happy  home.  A  daughter  claimed  their  cares 
and  awoke  within  them  an  unknown  fount 
of  joy.  Then,  indeed,  did  their  lives  seem  to 
pass  like  a  dream  of  fairy-land.  The  day 
dawned  but  in  happiness,  and  the  night 
closed  over  them  in  peace. 

Oh  !  the  record  of  these  few  years  of 
uninterrupted  enjoyment  should  be  traced  in 
characters  of  gold,  for  they  ended,  and  there 
came  a  sad  reverse. 

Morduant's  dissipated  companions  deter- 
mined not  to  give  him  up.  From  the  time 
of  his  first  acquaintance  with  Alice  until 
now,  he  had  resisted  all  their  temptations. 
Though  he  had  often  taken,  with  them,  a 
social  glass,  he  had  not  joined  in  their  mid- 
night revels,  and  had  refused  again  to  take 
his  seat  at  the  gaming  table.  But  now, 
with  renewed  earnestness,  they  determined  to 
win  him  over,  and,  alas  !  too  fatally  did 
they  succeed. 

Many  long,  weary  evenings  did  Alice  «it 


OF    SPARKLING    DROPS.  49 

-mlone,  beside  the  crib  of  her  sleeping  Ellen ; 
yet  her  trusting  heart  forboded  no  ill  —  her 
husband's  invariable  plea  of  Imswess  was 
readily  believed.  But  the  veil  of  conceal- 
ment could  not  always  be  worn ;  it  was 
withdrawn,  and  then  came  sorrow  and  sore 
^anguish. 

It  was  evening  —  the  clock  rung  out  the 
lour  of  ten,  and  Alice  threw  down  her  book, 
-and  casting  a  mother's  look  of  love  upon  her 
•sleeping  Ellen,  approached  the  window.    The 
stars  were  smiling  in  their  clear  blue  depths, 
the  full  moon  shed  a  soft  light  on  garden  and 
lawn,  seeming  to  rest  with  peculiar  bright- 
'ness  on  a  bower  which  Morduant,  with  his 
own  hand,  had  made  so  fairy-like  and  beau- 
tiful.     Alice   sighed,   as   she   thought   how 
much  -of  late  he  had  staid  away  from  his 
happy  home,  —  how  his  brow  had  darkened, 
and  his  eye  grown  anxious,  when,  night  after 
night,  he  had  told  her,  "  business  detained 
him."     She  wondered  if  he  were  perplexed, 
and  in  trouble  ;  and  if  so,  why  he  did  not 
tell  her,  that  she  might  strive  to  lessen  his 
^anxieties,  as  well   as   share   his  joys.      Her 


50  THE    SILVEK    CUP 

thoughts  grew  sad,  and  she  turned  from  the 
scene  without,  to  the  little  erib  of  Tier  lovely 
child.  A  smile  was  dimpling  her  round, 
healthy  cheek.  The  mother  stooped,  and, 
lightly  kissing  her,  exclaimed :  "  The  angels 
are  watching  thy  slumbers,  sweet  one ! "" 
Presently,  an  expression  of  delight  passed 
over  her,  before  thoughtful,  face,  and  she 
said,  aloud,  "  To-morrow  is  my  Ellen's  third 
birth-day,  and  I  had  like  to  have  forgotten^ 
her  present."  She  seated  herself  at  the  work- 
stand,  and,  with  much  animation,  commenced 
dressing  a  large  doll,  the  child's  favorite  toy. 
Hour  after  hour  passed  on,  and  Alice  grew 
weary,  and  oppressed  with  anxiety.  The 
clock  struck  two ;  and,  as  its  mournful  sound 
died  away  upon  the  night  air,  she  stepped 
out  into  the  broad  moonlight,  and  wandered 
toward  the  gate.  But,  what  a  sight  met  her 
there !  Her  husband,  who  had  just  been 
lifted  from  a  carriage  by  two  gentlemen,  was- 
borne  toward  her.  She  uttered  no  cry,  nor 
did  she  faint ;  but  surprise,  and  fear,  and 
suspense,  almost  overpowered  her.  In  a 


OF    SPAEKLING    DEOP8.  51 

voice  low  and  hoarse  with  anguish,  she  en- 
quired : 

"  Is  he  dead  ?  Do  you  bring  my  husband 
to  me,  dead  ? " 

They  both  exclaimed,  at  once  :  "  No,  no  ; 
not  dead  ;  but  let  us  get  him  to  the  house." 

She  led  the  way  ;  and,  as  they  placed  him 
upon  the  sofa,  and  turned  to  speak  encour- 
agingly to  the  almost  paralyzed  wife,  he 
began  to  mutter,  and  stammered  out  — 
"Don't,  don't  be  afraid  —  Al-Al-Alice.  It 
is  n't  the  —  the  wine." 

Poor  Alice  !  A  strange  light  broke  in 
upon  her  spirit.  She  needed  not  now  to  be 
told  what  had  happened,  or  why  he  had 
been  brought  home  in  this  way.  The  gentle- 
men tried  to  comfort  her  with  kind  words  ; 
but  they  were  themselves  too  much  bewild- 
ered, by  the  wine  they  had  taken,  to  speak 
sensibly,  and,  bidding  her  "  good  night,"  re- 
turned to  their  carriage. 

It  is  useless  to  attempt  a  description  of 
that  night  of  sorrow  and  sore  trial.  Bitterly 
did  the  stricken  wife  mourn  over  her  fallen 
husband  !  and  dark  were  her  fears,  that  he 


52  THE    SILVER    CUP 

was  irreclaimably  A  DRUNKARD  !  Most  earn- 
estly did  she  plead  with  him,  and  weep  over 
him,  when  he  again  became  conscious,  —  and 
many  were  his  promises  of  reform. 

It  would  be  an  oft-repeated  tale>  to  trace 
the  steps  of  the  fallen  man,  as  he  descended 
to  the  lowest  grade  of  misery  and  degrada- 
tion. Let  us  advance  ten  years,  and  see  the 
result  of  his  life  of  dissipation.  Stripped  of 
their  wealth,  they  have  again  returned  to 
Roseland,  and  found  shelter  in  that  once 
comfortable  cottage.  But,  alas  !  how  changed 
were  they.  What  a  depth  of  meaning  is 
conveyed  in  that  one  sentence  —  a  drunken 
Jmsbamd  and  father! 

And  was  the  proud,  the  gifted  Morduant 
irreclaimable  ? "  It  was  supposed  so  —  but 
we  shall  see. 

And  here,  let  us  return  to  Mr.  Stanley  and 
Henry,  whom  we  left  in  the  little  back  par- 
lor of  the  inn.  They  canvassed  the  matter 
of  forming  a  "  Division,"  and  then  started 
out,  upon  their  errand  of  love.  Mr.  Stanley 
really  found  "  the  ten,"  and,  with  their  assist- 
ance, obtained  a  "  Charter,"  formed  the  said 


OF    SPARKLING    DROPS.  53 

"  Division,1'  and,  in  a  short  time,  a  "  Hall " 
was  fitted  up  in  fine  style.  At  every  weekly 
meeting  new  members  were  received,  until 
"  The  sons  "of  Temperance"  became  a  popular 
Order,  and  the  little  village  of  Roseland 
assumed  a  new  and  brighter  aspect 

Again  let  us  leave  the  plodding  present, 
and  advance  five  years. 

As  we  enter  Koseland,  and  look  for  the 
uninviting,  wood-colored  "  Traveler's  Home," 
we  behold,  in  its  place,  a  spacious  Temper- 
ance Hotel  —  and  instead  of  the  crumbling, 
time-worn  sign-post,  there  gushes  up  cheerily 
a  fountain  of  sparkling .  bright  water.  On 
the  opposite  side  of  the  street,  where  stood 
that  filthy  rum-selling  grocery,  now  towers 
up  a  splendid  edifice,  with  the  motto,  "  Love, 
Purity,  and  Fidelity,"  traced  in  bold  charac- 
ters on  its  front,  designating  it,  at  once,  as 
the  "  Hall "  of  "  The  Sons  of  Temperance." 
The  whole  village  is  greatly  improved,  as 
well  as  enlarged.  But,  let  us  call  at  this 
beautiful  cottage,  which  nestles  so  lovingly 
among  the  tall  elms,  and  choice,  though 
abundant,  shrubbery. 


54  TIIE    SILVER    CUP 

In  the  vine-shaded  portico  are  seated  two 
gentlemen  ;  one  of  whom  we  cannot  fail  to 
recognize  as  Mr.  Stanley.  His  whitened  head 
bears  evident  marks  of  advanced  age,  but 
the  same  benevolent  smile  lingers  on  his  no- 
ble face,  and  the  same  kind,  earnest  voice 
wins  the  ear  to  listen.  His  companion,  you 
will  say  you  have  never  seen  before,  and  yet, 
there  is  a  something  about  him  not  wholly 
unknown.  It  is  the  reclaimed,  the  again 
refined,  talented  Morduant.  Ask  him,  what 
has  caused  the  change,  and  he  will  point  you 
to  Mr.  Stanley  as  his  preserver  ;  tell  you  of 
his  admission  into  the  Order  of  the  "  Sons  of 
Temperance,"  and  of  their  untiring  efforts  to 
keep  him  from  a  second  fall. 

Enter  the  parlor  ;  and  here  you  will  re- 
cognize Henry  Stanley,  in  the  the  gentleman 
so  interestedly  gazing  upon  a  fair  young  crea- 
ture, sitting  at  the  piano.  He  seems  no  less 
delighted  with  her,  than  with  her  perform- 
ance—  and  who  is  she?  I  hope, "my  dear 
reader,  you  have  not  forgotten  Ellen  Mor- 
duant, the  little  girl  who  smiled  in  her  sleep 
and  was  so  tenderly  cared  for  by  a  fond 


OF    SPARKLING    DROPS.  55 

Another.  That  mother,  bowed  down  with 
many  sorrows,  occasioned  by  a  husband's 
intemperance,  has  long  since  found  rest  in  the 
grave  —  and  Ellen,  as  the  wife  of  Henry 
Stanley,  enjoys  those  privileges  and  luxuries 
cf  wealth  which  were  denied  her  as  the  pov- 
erty-stricken daughter  of  a  drunkard. 

Thrown  over  an  arm  of  the  sofa  is  a  re- 
cently finished,  white  satin  banner,  with 
u  Love,  Purity,  Fidelity,"  most  elegantly  em- 
broidered upon  it  —  The  work  of"  Ellen's 
fingers. 

True  happiness  and  peace  beam  upon  the 
^countenances  of  all,  in  this  quiet,  but  elegant, 
home.  It  is  a  spot  where  we  would  love  to 
linger,  until  our  immortal  spirits  are  called  to 
&  holier  world  ;  for  here,  indeed,  we  may 
<eyer  believe, "  There  is  hope  for  the  fallen." 

FLORENCE. 


' 

56  THE    SILVER     CUP 


€\}t 


lanb. 


TRANSLATED    FROM   THE    GERMAN,    BY    W.    H.    LONGFELLOW 

There  sat  one  day  in  quiet,  4 

By  an  alehouse  on  the  Rhine, 
Four  hale  and  hearty  fellows, 

And  drank  the  precious  wine; 

The  landlord's  daughter  filled  their  cups>. 

Around  the  rustic  board;. 
Then  sat  they  all  so  calm  and  still, 

And  spake  not  .  one  rude  word. 


But,  when  the  maid  departed, 
A  Swabian  raised  his  hand, 

And  cried,  all  hot  and  flushed  with 
"Long  live  the  Swabian.  land! 

"The  greatest  kingdom  upon  earth 
Cannot  with  that  compare; 

With  all  the  stout  and  hearty  men 
And  the  nut-brown  maidens  there/ 

"  Ha  !  "  cried  the  Saxon,  laughing  — 
And  dashed  his  beard  with  wine, 

"I  had  rather  live  in  Lapland, 

Than  that  Swabian.  land  of  thine  t. 


OF    SPARKLING    DKOPS.  57 


... 


"The  goodliest  land  on  all  the  earth, 

It  is  the  Saxon  land! 
There  have  I  as  many  maidens 

As  fingers  on  this  hand ! " 

"Hold  your  tongues!  both  Swabian  and  Saxon!" 

A  bold  Bohemian  cries; 
"  If  there 's  a  heaven  upon  the  earth, 

In  Bohemia  it  lies. 

"There  the  tailor  blows  the  flute, 

And  the  cobbler  blows  the  horn, 
And  the  miner  blows  the  bugle, 

Over  mountain  gorge  and  bourn." 
*  *  *  *  * 

And  then  the  landlord's  daughter 

Up  to  heaven  raised  her  hand, 
And  said,  "Ye  may  no  more  contend, 

There  lies  the  happiest  land!" 


to  bn 


BT   O.  W.  BETHUITE,   D.   D. 


Live  to  do  good:  but  not  with  thought  to  win 

From  man  reward  of  any  kindness  done: 
Remember  him  who  died  on  cross  for  sin  — 
3* 


58  THE    SILVEK    CUP 

The  merciful,  the  meek,  rejected  One  ; 
When  He  was  slain  for  crime  of  doing  good, 
Canst  thou  expect  return  of  gratitude? 

Do  good  to  all:  but,  while  thou  servest  best 
And  at  thy  greatest  cost,  nerve  thee  to  bear, 

When  thine  own  heart  with  anguish  is  oppressed 
The  cruel  taunt,  the  cold  averted  air, 

From  lips  which  thou  hast  taught  in  hope  to  pray, 

And  eyes  whose  sorrows  thou  hast  wiped  away. 

Still  do  thou  good:  but  for  His  holy  sake 
Who  died  for  thine,  fixing  thy  purpose  ever 

High  as  His  throne,  no  wrath  of  man  can  shake; 
So  shall  He  own  thy  generous  endeavor. 

And  take  thee  to  His  conqueror's  glory  up, 

When  thou  hast  shared  the  Saviour's  bitter  cup. 

Do  nought  but  good:  for  such  the  noble  strife 
Of  virtue  is  'gainst  wrong  to  venture  love, 

And  for  thy  foe  devote  a  brother's  life, 
Content  to  wait  the  recompense  above; 

Brave  for  the  truth,  to  fiercest  insult  meek, 

In  mercy  strong,  in  vengeance  only  weak. 


Si1  A  IMC  LIN  ft    BE  OPS,  59 


Iltcn. 


-BY  MRS.  O.  H.  BDTI/ER. 


IT  was  Emma's  bridal  morn.  I  saw  lier 
standing  at  the  door  of  lier  father's  cottage  ; 
^a  simple  wreath  of  the  pure  lily  of  the  val- 
ley '  entwined  amid  the  rich  braids  of  her 
auburn  hair-—  the  image  of  innocence  and 
happiness.  That  morning,  fair  EMMA  ALTON 
had  given  her  hand  where  long  her  young 
affections  had  been  treasured  ;  and  to  those 
•who  then  saw  the  fine  handsome  countenance 
•of  Reuben  Fairfield,  and  the  pride  and  love 
with  which  he  regarded  the  fair  being  at  his 
side,  it  seemed  impossible  that  aught  but 
happiness  could  follow  the  solemn  rites  the 
cottage  had  that  morning  witnessed. 

The  dwelling  of  my  friend,  to  whose  rural 
quiet  I  had  escaped,  from  the  heat  and  tur- 
moil of  the  city,  was  directly  opposite  the 
neat  little  cottage  of  Emma's  parents,  and,  as 
I  sat  at  my  chamber  window,  my  eye  was,  of 
course,  Attracted  to  the  happy  scene  before 


GO  .1  u'E    SiLVEfi    CUP' 

me.  The'  morning  was  truly  delightful — -• 
scarce  a  cloud  floated  o'er  the  blue  vault  of 
heaven-^- now  and  then,  a  soft  breeze  canie% 
whispering  through  the  fragrant  locust  blos- 
soms and  proud  catalpas,  then,  stooping  to 
kiss  the  dewy  grass,  sped  far  off  in  fantastic- 
shadows  over  the  rich  wheat  and  clover 
fields.  All  seemed  in  unison  with  the  happi- 
ness so  apparent  at  the  cottage  —  the  birds- 
sang  -—  butterflies  sported  on  golden  wing  — 
bees  hummed  busily.  Many  of  Emma's* 
youthful  companions  had  come  to  witness- 
the  ceremony,  and  to  bid  adieu  to  their  be- 
loved associate,  for,  as  soon  as  the  holy  rites- 
were  concluded,  Reuben  was  to  bear  his  fair 
bride  to  a  distant  village,  where  already  a 
beautiful  cottage  was  prepared,  over  whicli 
she  was  to  preside,  the  charming  mistress. 

There  is  always,  I  believe,  a  feeling  of  sad- 
ness commingled  with  the  pleasure  with 
which  we  regard  the  young  and  trusting 
bride,  and  as  I  now  looked  upon  Emma, 
standing  in  the  little  portico,  surrounded  by 
the  bright  and  happy  faces  of  her  compan- 
ions, her  own  still  more  radiant,  I  involunta- 


OF    SPAEKLIKG    DROPS.  61 

rily  sighed  as  I  thought  what  her  future  lot 
might  be.  Was  my  sigh  prophetic  f  Pres- 
ently the  chaise,  which  was  to  convey  the 
new-married  pair  to  their  future  home,  drove 
gaily  to  the  gate  of  the  cottage.  I  saw  Em- 
ma bid  adieu  to  her  young  friends,  as  they 
all  gathered  around  her.  I  saw  her  fair 
arms  thrown  around  the  neck  of  her  weep- 
ing mother,  and  then  supported  by  her  fa- 
ther and  Reuben,  she  was  borne  to  the 
carriage.  Long  was  she  pressed  to  her  fa- 
ther's heart,  ere  he  resigned  her  for  ever  to 
her  husband. 

"  God  bless  you,  my  child,"  at  length  said 
the  old  man  :  but  no  sound  escaped  Emma's 
lips,  —  she  threw  herself  back  in  the  chaise, 
and  drew  her  veil  hastily  over  her  face  — 
Reuben  sprang  to  her  side  —  waved  his  hand 
to  the  now  weeping  assemblage  at  the  cot- 
tage door,  and  the  chaise  drove  rapidly  away. 

I  soon  left  the  village,  and  heard  no  more 
of  the  youthful  pair.  Three  years  elapsed 
ere  I  again  visited  that  pleasant  spot,  and, 
the  morning  after  my  arrival,  as  I  took  my 
favorite  seat,  and  looked  over  upon  the  little 


2  T1IESILVEKCUP 

dwelling  opposite,  the  blithe  scene  I  had 
there  witnessed  recurred  to  me,  and  I  mar- 
veled if  all  which  promised  so  fair  on  the 
bridal  morn  had  been  realized.  To  my  eye, 
the  cottage  did  not  look  as  cheerful,  the  air 
of  neatness  and  comfort  which  before  distin- 
guished it,  seemed  lessened.  I  notice  the 
walk  was  now  overgrown  with  grass,  and  the 
little  flower  plot,  about  which  I  had  so  ofter 
seen  fair  Emma  employed,  was  rank  witl> 
weeds.  The  blinds  were  all  closely  shut 
and,  indeed,  every  thing  about  the  cottage 
looked  comfortless  and  desolate.  Presently 
the  door  opened  and  a  female  appeared 
bearing  in  her  hand  a  small  basket  which 
she  proceeded  to  fill  with  vegetables,  growing 
sparsely  among  the  weeds  and  tangled  grass. 
Her  step  was  feeble,  and  she  seemed  hardly 
capable  of  pursuing  her  employment.  As 
she  turned  her  face  toward  me,  I  started 
with  surprise,  —  I  looked  at  her  again,  more 
earnestly  —  is  it  possible  —  can  that  be  Em- 
ma, thought  I  —  can  that  pale,  wretched 
looking  girl  be  her,  whom  I  last  saw  a  happy 
blooming  bride  ? 


OF    SPARKLING    DROPS.  63 

\  *s,  it  was  Enima  !  Alas  !  how  soon  are 
the  bright  visions  dispelled ;  like  those 
beautiful  images  which  flit  around  the  couch 
of  dreams,  they  can  never  be  realized. 

The  history  of  Emma  is  one  which  has  oft 
been  written,  by  the  pen  of  truth  —  a  tear- 
ful record  of  maris  ingratitude  and  folly  — 
of  womawHs  all-enduring  sufferance  and  con- 
stancy. 

The  first  few  months  of  Emma's  married 
life  flew  by  in  unalloyed  happiness.  Reuben 
lived  but  in  her  smiles  ;  and  life,  to  the 
young,  affectionate  girl,  seemed  but  a  joyous 
holiday,  and  she  the  most  joyous  participant. 
Too  soon  the  scene  was  changed.  Reuben 
Fairfield  was  of  a  gay  and  reckless  nature, 
fond  of  convivality,  of  the  jest  and  song ; 
he  was,  consequently,  a  great  favorite  with 
the  young  men  of  the  village,  and  there  had 
been  rumors  that,  even  before  his  marriage, 
he  had  been  too  free  a  partaker  of  the  wine- 
cup.  If  this  were  the  case,  months  certainly 
passed  on  after  that  event,  when  Reuben 
seemed  indifferent  to  any  society  but  that  of 
his  young  wife.  Little  by  little,  his  old 


64  THE    SILVER    OtTP 

habits  returned  upon  him,  so  insensibly  too, 
that  even  he,  himself,  could  not  probably 
have  defined  the  time  when  he  again  found 
pleasure  away  from  the  home  of  love  and 
Emma.  In  the  only  tavern  of  the  village,  a 
room  was  devoted  exclusively  to  the  revels 
of  a  band  of  reckless,  dissolute  young  men, 
with  whom  Reuben  had  at  one  time  been 
intimate,  and  it  needed  but  the  slightest 
appearance  on  the  part  of  the  latter  to  toler- 
ate once  more  their  idle  carousals,  than  with 
one  consent,  they  all  united  to  bring  back 
the  Benedict  to  his  old  habits.  They  thought 
not  of  the  misery  that  would  follow  the  suc- 
cess of  their  fiendish  plot ;  of  the  crushed 
and  broken  heart  of  the  young  being  who 
looked  up  to  their  victim  as  her  only  hope 
and  happiness. 

It  was  in  the  gay  spring-time,  when  Reu- 
ben Fairfield  bore  his  bride  away  from  the 
arms  of  her  aged  parents  ;  but  what  became 
of  the  solemn  vows  he  then  uttered,  to  pro- 
tect and  cherish  their  beloved  daughter?  For, 
when  next  the  forest  trees  unfolded  their  ten- 
der leaves,  and  the  orchards  were  white  with 


OF    SPARKLING    DROPS.  65 


fragrant  blossoms,  misery  and  despair 
fallen,  as  a  blight,  upon  poor  Emma  !  The 
heart  of  affection  is  the  last  to  acknowledge 
the  errors  of  a  beloved  object,  so  it  was  with 
Emma  ;  but  her  cheek  grew  pale,  and  her 
mild  blue  eyes  dimmed  beneath  their  woe- 
charged  lids. 

Reuben  now  almost  entirely  neglected  his 
patient,  still-loving  wife.  In  vain  she  reas- 
oned, entreated,  implored,  yet  nevw  re- 
proaclied.  He  was  alike  regardless  ;  daily 
he  gave  himself  up  more  and  more  to  the 
insatiate  destroyer,  until  destruction,  both  of 
soul  and  body,  followed.  And  loud  rang  the 
laugh,  and  the  glasses  rattled,  and  the  voice 
of  the  inebriate  shouted  forth  its  loathsome 
jargon  from  the  Tempter's  Hell!  There 
were  times,  it  is  true,  when  he  would  pause 
in  his  reckless  career  ;  and  then  hope  once 
more  buoyed  up  the  sinking  heart  of  Emma; 
and  when,  for  the  first  time,  he  pressed  their 
babe  to  his  bosom,  while  a  tear  fell  upon  its 
innocent  cheek,  it  is  no  wonder  that  the 
young  mother  felt  her  sorrows  ended.  That 
tear,  the  tear,  as  she  thought,,  of  repentance, 


66  THE    SILVER    CUP 

had  washed  them  all  away.  But,  when  vice 
once  gets  the  ascendency,  it  reigns  like  a  des- 
pot, and  too  soon  the  holy  feelings  of  the 
father  were  lost  in  the  intoxicating  bowl. 

Poverty,  with  all  its  attendant  ills,  now 
came  upon  the  wretched  wife.  One  by  one 
the  articles  of  her  little  menage  were  taken 
from  her  by  Reuben,  to  satisfy  the  cravings 
of  appetite,  and,  with  her  babe,  she  was  at 
last  forced  to  leave  the  cottage  where  her 
early  days  of  married  life  so  blissfully  flew 
by,  and  seek  shelter  from  the  winds  of  hea- 
ven in  a  miserable  hut,  which  only  misery 
might  tenant.  The  unfortunate  find  few 
friends,  and  over  the  threshhold  of  poverty 
new  ones  seldom  pass,  and  therefore  it  was 
that  Emma  was  soon  neglected  and  forgot- 
ten. There  were  some,  it  is  true,  who  re- 
garded her  with  pity  and  kindness,  but  there 
were  also  very  many  who  pointed  the  finger 
of  derision  at  the  drunkards  wife  —  inno- 
cent sufferer  for  her  husband's  vices  !  At 
length  the  babe  fell  ill.  It  died,  and  poor, 
poor  Emma,  pale  and  disconsolate,  knelt 
by  the  little  cradle  alone ;  no  sympathizing 


OF    SPARKLING    DEOPS.  G<T 

hand  wiped  the  tear  from  her  eye  ;  no  kind 
word  soothed  her  lacerated  bosom ;  the 
earthly  friend  that  should  have  sustained  her 
under  this  grievous  trial,  was  not  at  her  side, 
but  reveling  in  scenes  of  low  debauchery. 

The  night  was  marked  by  a  storm  of  ter- 
rific violence ;  the  rain  poured  in  torrents  ; 
dreadful  thunder  rent  the  heavens,  the  whirl- 
wind uplifted  even  the  largest  trees  ;  while 
the  incessant  lightning-flashes  only  added 
tenfold  horrors  to  the  scene.  But  the  be- 
reaved mother,  the  forsaken  wife,  heeded  it 
not :  with  her  cheek  pressed  against  the 
scarce  colder  one  of  her  dead  babe,  she  re- 
mained for  hours  totally  unconscious  of  the 
wild  war  of  the  elements  —  for  more  com- 
plete desolation  reigned  in  her  heart.  At 
length  the  door  opened,  and  Reuben  entered. 
With  an  oath,  he  was  about  to  throw  himself 
upon  the  wretched  straw  pallet,  when  his 
eye  casually  fell  upon  the  pale  marble-like 
face  of  the  little  babe.  His  senses,  stupified 
as  they  were,  aroused  at  the  sight. 

"What  ails  the  child?"  he  muttered. 

"Reuben,   our    darling    babe    is    dead!" 


68  THE    SILVER    CUP 

replied  Emma,  lifting  her  pallid  features  to 
the  bloated  gaze  of  her  husband.  Then  ri- 
sing from  her  knees,  she  approached  him, 
and  led  him  to  look  upon  the  placid  counte- 
nance of  their  first-born. 

We  will  not  dwell  upon  the  scene  ;  re- 
morse and  grief  stirred  the  heart  of  Keuben 
almost  to  madness.  On  his  knees  he  implo- 
red forgiveness  of  his  much  injured  wife  ;  he 
swore  a  solemn  oath  that  never  again  would 
he  swerve  from  the  path  of  sobriety,  but 
that  years  of  penitence  and  affection  should 
atone  for  his  past  abase  of  life  and  love. 

The  day  came  for  the  funeral.  Reuben 
had  promised  his  wife  that  he  would  not 
again  leave  the  house  until  the  remains  of 
their  babe  had  been  given  to  the  earth  ;  he 
intended  to  keep  his  promise,  but  as  the  day 
wore  on  the  insatiable  cries  of  habit  tempted 
him  away.  Only  one  glass,  he  thought  — 
but  another  followed — and  then  another, 
until,  alike  forgetful  of  himself  and  his 
unhappy  wife,  he  became  grossly  intoxicated. 

In  the  mean  while  a  few  of  the  neighbors 
had  assembled ;  the  clergyman,  too,  had 


OF    SPARKLING    DROPS.  69 

arrived,  and  the  funeral  rites  were  only 
delayed  by  the  absence  of  Reuben.  Minutes 
wore  on. 

"  He  will  not  come,"  whispered  one.  "  Ah, 
it  is  easy  to  guess  where  he  is,"  added  an- 
other, and  looks  of  pity  were  turned  upon 
the  heart-stricken  mother,  as  with  her  head 
bowed  upon  the  little  coffin  she  hid  her  grief 
and  shame.  The  clergyman  at  length  ap- 
proaching the  mourner,  in  a  low  tone,  asked 
if  the  ceremony  should  proceed. 

"  Has  he  come  ? "  eagerly  asked  Emma. 

The  clergyman  shook  his  head. 

"  O  wait,  wait,  he  will  be  here,  he  prom- 
ised me.  O  yes,  he  will  come  !  " 

But  another  half  hour  rolled  on,  and  still 
Reuben  came  not.  The  neighbors  now  mo- 
ved to  depart,  when  rising  from  her  seat,  her 
pallid  countenance  betokening  the  agony  of 
her  heart,  Emma  signified  her  assent  that  the 
solemn  rites  should  proceed.  But  suddenly 
in  the  midst  of  that  earnest  prayer  for  com- 
fort and  support  to  the  afflicted  mother,  a 
loud  shout  was  heard,  and  Reuben  was  seen 
staggering  toward  the  hut.  With  a  brutal 


70  THE    SILVER    CUP 

oath  lie  burst  into  the  room,  but,  happily  for 
poor  Emma,  she  saw  him  not,  the  first  sound 
of  his  voice  had  deprived  her  of  conscious- 
ness, and  she  was  placed  fainting  on  the  bed. 
Reuben  was  overpowered  and  dragged  from 
the  hut  —  the  funeral  service  ended,  and 
leaving  the  unconscious  mother  in  the  care 
of  a  few  compassionate  neighbors,  the  little 
procession  wound  its  way  to  the  churcl 
yard. 

It  was  nearly  a  year  after  this  sad  scene, 
that  one  evening  a  stranger  alighted  from 
the  stage  at  the  inn,  announcing  his  intention 
to  remain  there  for  the  night.  Entering  the 
bar-room,  he  ordered  a  glass  of  brandy  which 
he  was  about  to  carry  to  his  lips,  when  his 
eye  encountered  the  wistful  gaze  of  Reuben 
Fairfield,  who  now,  without  means  to  allay 
the  death- worm  upon  his  vitals,  was  stretched 
upon  a  bench  at  one  end  of  the  room. 

"  I  say,  neighbor,  you  look  thirsty,"  ejacu- 
lated the  stranger  in  a  gay  tone.  "Here, 
take  this,  for  faith,  tliou  hast  a  learn,  and 
hu/ngry  look' !  " 


OF    SPARKLING    DEO  PS.  71 

Eagerly  seizing  it,  Reuben  drained  the 
glass,  and  for  a  moment  the  worm  was 
appeased  !  The  stranger  made  some  casual 
remark,  to  which  Reuben  replied  in  language 
30  well  chosen,  and  evidently  so  far  above 
his  apparent  station  in  life,  that  the  former 
was  astonished,  and  by  degrees  a  lively  con- 
versation took  place  between  them,  during 
which  Reuben  more  than  once  partook  of 
the  young  man's  mistaken  kindness.  While 
conversing,  the  stranger  several  times  drew 
from  his  pocket  a  handsome  gold  watch,  and 
the  chink  of  silver  fell  upon  the  famished 
ears  of  Reuben  with  startling  clearness.  Ap- 
parently, with  that  feeling  of  ennui  which  so 
often  seizes  upon  the  solitary  traveler,  the 
stranger  now  strolled  from  the  bar-room  into 
the  hall,  a  door  leading  into  a  room  opposite 
was  open,  and  sounds  of  loud  merriment 
attracted  his  eyes  in  that  direction.  A  com- 
pany of  young  men  were  playing  at  cards  — 
without  ceremony  he  entered,  and  advancing 
to  the  table,  appeared  to  watch  the  game 
with  some  interest.  He  was  invited  to  join 
them,  and  after  some  hesitation  accepted. 


THE    SILVER    CUP 

Reuben  had  followed  the  young  man  into 
the  room,  and  now  eagerly  watched  the  pile 
of  silver,  and  an  occasional  bank  note,  which 
rather  ostentatiously,  as  it  would  seem,  the 
stranger  displayed.  The  evening  wore  away, 
and  with  a  promise  from  Reuben  that  he 
would  awaken  him  betimes,  to  visit  a  singu- 
lar cave  in  the  neighborhood,  the  stranger 
retired  to  rest.  Not  so,  Reuben.  A  fiendish 
plot  entered  his  brain  —  that  money  must  be 
Ms  —  and  even  at  that  moment  when  rob- 
bery, perhaps  murder,  was  at  his  heart,  he 
dared  to  think  of  the  pure  minded,  innocent 
Emma  as  a  sharer  of  his  ill-gotten  wealth  ! 
All  night  he  paced  the  dark  forest  contigu- 
ous to  his  abode,  where  long  after  midnight 
the  feeble  lamp  shone  upon  the  haggard  fea- 
tures of  the  once  lovely  girl,  as  she  strove 
with  trembling  fingers  to  render  the  apparel 
of  the  inebriate  decent  for  the  morrow. 

As  the  day  was  breaking,  Reuben  passed 
softly  into  the  cottage,  for  he  knew  that  Em- 
ma now  slept ;  approaching  the  bedside, 
something  like  a  shade  of  pity  stole  over 
his  countenance.  She  smiled  in  her  sleep 


OF    8PAEKLING    DEOPS.  3 

and  called  upon  Ms  name  —  this  was.  too 
much  for  the  miserable  man.  Hastily  open- 
ing a  table-drawer,  he  drew  forth  a  sharp 
knife  which  he  concealed  beneath  his  coat, 
muttering,  as  he  did  so  —  "I  may  need  it,'7 
-and  then,  without  daring  to  cast  his  eye 
again  toward  the  bed,  left  the  house  and 
proceeded  to  the  inn,  where  the  stranger 
already  awaited  his  arrival. 

With  each  point  of  view,  as  they  pro- 
ceeded on  their  route,  the  latter  expressed 
Jbimself  delighted,  particularly  as  his  guide 
endeavored  to  give  interest  to  every  scene, 
by  the  relation  of  .some  anecdote  or  history 
attached.  At  length  they  reached  the  neigh- 
borhood of  the  cavern.  Here  the  river, 
which  before  had  rolled  so  gently  along, 
reflecting  the  varied  hues  of  autumn  in  its 
translucent  depths,  suddenly  changed  its 
course,  and  leaping  over  a  precipice  some 
thirty  feet  in  height,  pursued  its  way  for 
some  distance  between  huge  masses  of  shelv- 
ing rocks,  crowned  on  either  side  by  dark 
.gloomy  forests.  After  a  laborious  descent 
they  arrived  at  the  mouth  of  the  cave, 


74  THE    SILVEE    CUP 

situated  about  midway  down  the  bank 
Reuben  entered  first,  the  stranger  was  about 
to  follow,  when  turning  suddenly  upon  him 
with  a  blow  of  giant  strength,  Fairfield 
hurled  him  from  the  precipice,  and  he  fell 
senseless  upon  the  jagged  rocks  below ! 
Leaping  quickly  down,  Reuben  rifled  the 
pockets  of  the  unfortunate  man  of  both 
money  and  watch,  and  then  drew  him,  still 
breathing,  up  the  ragged  cliff  and  far  into 
the  cave.  More  than  once  as  he  saw  life  yet 
stirred  the  limbs  of  his  victim,  his  hand  was 
upon  the  knife  —  but  lie  drew  it  not  forth! 

Covering  the  body  with  fragments  of  rock 
and  under  wood,  he  left  the  hapless  man  to 
his  fate,  certain  that  even  if  consciousness 
returned,  his  efforts  to  extricate  himself  from 
the  mass  would  be  unavailing,  and  as  he  had 
taken  the  precaution  also  to  closely  bind  his 
mouth,  he  could  utter  no  cry  for  assistance. 

Returning  now  to  the  village,  he  boldly 
entered  the  inn,  and  stating  to  the  landlord 
that  the  stranger  had  been  tempted  by  the 
fineness  of  the  morning  to  pursue  his  journey 
a  few  miles  on  foot,  proceeded  to  hand  him 


OF    SPAKRLINO    BBOPS.  75 

a  sum  of  money  which  he  said  he  had 
charged  him  to  deliver  as  equivalent  to  the 
amount  due  for  supper  and  lodging.  This 
all  appeared  every  reasonable,  and  no  ques- 
tions were  asked.  But  ere  the  day  was  over, 
some  boys,  who  had  strayed  in  the  vicinity 
of  the  cave,  came  running  home  pale  and 
frightened,  declaring  they  had  heard  dread- 
ful groans  issue  thence,  and  that  many  of  the 
rocks  around  were  stained  with  blood  !  Im- 
mediately every  eye  was  turned  to  the  spot 
where  a  moment  before  Reuben  Fairfield  had 
been  standing,  and  although  no  one  spoke, 
probably  the  same  terrible  conviction  flashed 
through  the  minds  of  each ;  but  guilt  is  al- 
ways cowardly.  Reuben  had  disappeared. 
A  party  of  villagers  immediately  set  forth 
to  search  the  eave.  The  result  may  be  im- 
agined—  the  stranger  was  discovered,  still 
alive,  although  but  for  this  timely  aid,  a  few 
hours  would  have  determined  his  fate.  Reu- 
ben attempted  to  make  his  escape,  but  was 
soon  overtaken  and  delivered  up  to  justice — 
found  guilty,  and  sentenced  to  ten  years'  hard 
labor  in  the  State  Prison  ! 


76  THE    SILVER    CUP 

This  sad  history  I  learned  from  my  friend  ; 
and  now  poor  Emma  had  come  back  to  die  ! 
Come  back  to  that  home  she  had  left  with 
so  many  bright  visions  of  happiness  before 
her,  a  heart-broken,  wretched  being.  It  was 
not  long,  ere  through  the  same  little  gate, 
whence,  but  a  few  years  before,  I  had  seen 
her  led  a  happy,  blooming  bride,  I  saw  her 
coffin  borne  to  the  still  grave-yard  ! 

"  Ah  !  "  thought  I,  as  the  hot  tears  gath- 
ered, "  thou  art  but  another  victim .  at  the 
shrine  of  Intemperance ! "  Rest  thee  in 
peace,  poor  Emma  ! 


BY  MBS.  C.  L.  HENTZ. 

Alone  he  lies  on  blasted  heath, 
Accursed  of  man  and  God  — 

No  verdure  near  — his  fiery  breath 
Curls  withering  o'er  the  sod. 

Last  of  his  race  —  a  countless  race 
Their  graves  are  heaving  round, 


OF    8PAKKLING    DKOPS. 

Their  drowning  path  in  floods  we  trace, 
Their  ashes  strew  the  ground. 

Their  ghosts  come  rustling  in  the  gale, 
Then-  bones  the  wayside  pave, — 

They  bleach  upon  the  sunny  vale, 
They  gleam  'mid  ocean's  wave. 

How  died  they?  that  unnumbered  race  — 

Of  plague,  or  fire,  or  sword  ? 
Did  the  destroying  angel  pass, 

In  vengeance  from  the  Lord? 

They  died  in  sin  —  they  died  in  shame  — 

Each  suicidal  hand 
Hurl'd  at  the  heart  as  sure  an  aim 

As  guides  the  battle  brand. 

And  he,  the  last  and  lonely,  quaffs 

The  tempter's  burning  bowl, 
While,  as  he  drinks,  the  demon  laughs, 

And  claims  his  drowning  soul. 

Dash  down  the  bowl,  poor  maniac,  dash  — 

Save,  save  thy  drowning  soul; 
Heaven's  wrathful  lightnings  round  thee  flash, 

Eternal  thunders  roll. 

Fly  to  a  covert  from  the  storm, 
An  angel  bids  thee  come; 


78  THE    SILVER    OTTP 

Behold  her  fair,  emerging  form, 
A  rainbow  'mid  the  gloom. 

She  smiles  —  the  blasted  heath  is  green  — 
Pure  fountains  murmur  near  — 

Blending  in  shade,  the  young  leaves  lean, 
The  streamlet's  song  to  hear. 

The  waters  gush  in  countless  rills  — 
They  toss  their  silvery  spray  — 

The  wave  that  fiery  goblet  fills, 
And  laves  its  dregs  away. 

Flow  on,  ye  cleansing  waters,  flow 
Where'er  the  fiend  has  trod  — 

The  source  of  ruin  and  of  woe, 
The  scourge  of  man  and  God. 


u(H)tw  K  mas 


BY   MARIA   -WOODRUFF. 


The  day  is  done,  —  and  with  its  silent  close 

Come  recollections  of  the  varied  past. 

The  memory  of  long-lost  early  friends, 

Who  shared  with  me  bright  childhood's  sunny  hours, 

Steals  o'er  my  heart  in  softly-whispered  tones 


OF    BPAEKLING    DROPS.  79 

And  makes  me  feel  their  angel-presence  near. 
In  those  joy-kindling  days  how  happy  were  we  ! 
Then  there  was  beaming  sunshine  in  our  hearts, 
The  world  to  us  was  a  love-hallowed  scene ; 
And  in  the  circle  of  its  far  off  years, 
We  only  read  a  brightly  welcome  fate. 

Suns  rose,  and  shone  their  busy  day,  and  set  — 
And  childhood's  fleeting  summer  passed  away; 
Then  came  gay  youth,  with  all  its  busy  dreams 
Of  pure  and  unalloyed  heart-happiness. 
I  meet  my  Henry  in  this  gladsome  hour; 
And  was  he  not  all  my  proud  heart  could  wish, 
Of  nobleness,  and  love,  and  faith,  and  truth? 
His  soulful  eyes  were  deep  and  strangely  light; 
His  high,  pure  mind  was  written  on  his  face; 
And  I  lived  on  in  the  blest  consciousness 
Of  being*loved  —  and  loving  in  return. 

Years  still  rolled  on,  and  "  we  were  happy ! "  yes  — 

Such  bliss  as  those  few,  transitory  years 

Brought  on  their  silent,  swift,  love-laden  wings, 

Can  only  be  remembered  with  a  pang 

Of 'blighting  anguish,  that  they  fled  so  soon. 

Fled  ?  yes,  they  fled !  —  for  he  who  was  my  guide, 

My  inner  life,  the  soul  within  my  soul, 

Was  tempted  to  forego  the  light  of  home, 

To  taste  upon  the  wine-cups  sparkling  brim, 

The  joy  that  must  baptize  his  soul  in  woe! 


80  THE    SILVEK    CUP 

And  now  —  what  have  I  left?  my  early  friends 
Have,  one  by  one,  gone  to  a  dreamless  sleep! 
And  those,  who  blessed   my  father's  cherished   home, 
1  left,  to  link  my  fate  with  one  whose  name 
Was  woven  with  the  fibres  of  my  heart, 
And  whose  pure  love  was  all  I  asked  of  bliss. 
That  love  has  died.     And  must  I  gather  back 
My  wealth  of  crushed  affections,  to  corrode 
Within  the  silent  temple  of  my  soul'?  — 
On  such  an  eve  as  this,  spirits  that  love 
Go  out  on  love's  swift  errand.     But,  alas! 
Blooms  there  on  earth  a  flower  that  sheds  for  me 
The  incense  that  is  lent  by  Heaven,  to  cheer 
The  weary,  desolate,  and  broken  heart? 

I  know  he  did  not  mean  to  wrong  my  trust; 

But  some  dark  spirit  beckoned  him  away,. 

Away  from  joy,  and  peace,  and  home,  and  me, — 

And  I  am  left  to  wander  on  alone  ! 

No  cheering  sympathy,  no  trust,  no  hope. 

Why  have  I  lived  to  see  this  bitter  day? 

Why  daily  gaze  on  these  sun-lighted  hills, 

Yet,  know  my  heart  is  dark,  and  drear,  and  lone! 

But,  is  there  then  no  hope  this  side  the  grave? 
May  not  some  guardian  angel  still  be  near, 
To  pluck  his  footsteps  from  the  toilsome  snare? 
Kind  angel!  draw  him  back  to  LOVE — to 


OF    SPAEKLING    DEOPS.  81 


Come  \\)m  forking  Irmms? 

BY   MRS.    H.   S.    DE   GROVE. 

Why  come  these  mocking  dreams  at  eventide  ? 

To  haunt  my  aching  heart,  and  gath'ring  throw 
A  fading  gleam  o'er  desolations  wide  — 

A  deeper  gloom  to  spread  o'er  present  woe. 

Oh !  there  are  hours  when  to  the  lone  one's  ear 

Is  borne,  as  echo  from  the  void  within, 
The  moan  of  phantom  thoughts  still  hov'ring  near, 

Like  murdered  spirits  o'er  some  blood-stained  scene. 

Where  are  the  dreams  which,  in  my  hours  of  pride, 
Were  rear'cl  as  castles  in  some  fairy  land  ? 

With  sunny  landscapes  girting  every  side, 
And  golden  harps  in  many  an  angel  hand  ? 

What,  though  the  poisori'd  cup  be  decked  with  flowers  — 
The  draught  be  sweetened  with  each  rare  perfume  — 

Shall  we  not,  quaffing,  tell  in  bitter  hours, 
Its  stinging  pathway  to  the  opening  tomb  ? 

As  blight  of  years  falls  on  the  trustful  heart, 

And  sweeps  the  garniture  of  hope  away, 
Life  stands  unveiled  —  our  fancy-dreams  depart  — 

And  drooping  spirits  mourn  each  broken  stay. 
4* 


82  THESILVEKCUP 


Cjje  lrnnkarb'5  Danger 


BY    CHARLES   BURDETT. 


"  THERE,  take  that  then,  you  little  hussy, 
and  see  if  it  won't  teach  you  to  remember 
better  next  time,"  and  a  blow  from  the  per- 
son speaking  felled  the  one  addressed  to  the 
floor. 

"  Oh,  father  !  "  sobbed  the  little  girl,  for  it 
was  a  father  whose  brutality  was  thus  exhib- 
ited. "  Oh,  father,  you  hurt  me  dreadfully  — 
indeed  you  do  hurt  me,"  she  said,  rising  from 
the  floor  as  with  an  effort  —  "  Don't  strike 
me  ;  indeed  I  will  do  any  thing  you  say,  but 
don't  strike  me,  dear  father."  "  I  will  strike 
you,  if  I  choose,"  the  brute  replied,  in  rough 
tones.  "Ill  beat  the  breath  out  of  your 
body,  if  you  dare  to  disobey  me,"  and  he 
proved  the  sincerity  of  his  threat,  and  his 
ability  to  carry  it  into  execution,  by  seizing 
the  unresisting  girl  by  the  arm  and  boxing 
her  ears,  until  all  power  of  resistance  and 
even  of  crying  was  gone. 


OF    SPAEKLING    DROPS.  83 

"  There,"  he  exclaimed,  when  fatigued  with 
his  brutal  occupation,  as  his  child  sank  al- 
most senseless  at  his  feet.  "  There,  take  that 
and  learn  to  disobey  me  the  next  time,  will 
you,"  and  he  staggered  out  of  the  room, 
leaving  the  half-dead  girl  lying  on  the  floor. 

A  very  few  words  are  necessary  to  intro- 
duce, more  particularly,  father  and  daughter 
to  the  reader : 

JAMES  MAXWELL  was  a  widower,  his  wife 
having  died  about  two  years  prior  to  the 
opening  of  my  tale,  leaving  Ellen,  the  daugh- 
ter and  only  child,  to  his  care,  she  being,  at 
the  time  of  her  mother's  death,  ten  years  of 
age.  He  w^as  a  mechanic  —  a  good  mechanic, 
and,  during  the  lifetime  of  his  wife,  had 
worked  steadily  and  faithfully,  earning  the 
best  wages.  Then,  he  was  a  sober,  industri- 
ous man  —  kind  to  his  wife  —  attentive  to 
the  wants  of  his  little  family,  and  happy  in 
the  possession  of  an  affectionate  wife,  a  duti- 
ful child,  health  and  strength  to  pursue  his 
daily  labor,  and  the  esteem  of  all  who  knew 
him. 

A  few  months  after  the  death  of  his  wife, 


84  THESILVERCUP 

a  sad  change  came  over  Ms  manners,  habit  *y 
and  conduct.  He  commenced  visiting  por- 
ter-houses, and  his  evenings  were  now  passed 
with  boon  companions,  drinking  and  gam- 
bling away  his  daily  wages,  while  his  child 
was  suffering  from  actual  want  at  home, 
uncared  for  by  the  debased  parent.  In  a 
short  time  he  lost  his  situation,  and,  of  course, 
the  means  to  gratify  his  debased  passion  for 
liquor.  But,  piece  by  piece,  his  furniture 
was  disposed  of,  and  without  a  thought  upon 
the  sufferings  of  his  motherless  girl  at  home, 
he  continued  to  drink  and  gamble  away  his 
hours,  returning  home  always  in  a  state  of 
intoxication. 

Ellen,  his  little  daughter,  had  found  em- 
ployment at  the  artificial  flower  trade,  and 
was  earning  enough  daily  to  provide  food  for 
herself  and  wretched  parent,  when  he  came 
home  to  partake  of  it. 

He  had,  on  the  morning  of  the  day  in 
which  my  story  commences,  before  he  left 
the  house,  told  her  that  she  need  not  prepare 
any  supper  for  him,  as  he  should  not  be 
home.  He  did  come  however,  at  an  earliei 


OF    SPARKLING    DROPS.  85 

hour  than  was  usual,  and  as  usual  he  was 
intoxicated,  and  his  first  enquiry  was  for  his 
supper.  Ellen  reminded  him  of  what  he 
had  told  her  in  the  morning,  but  with  the 
stubbornness  of  intoxication,  he  denied  it, 
and  the  blow  which  felled  her  to  the  ground 
was  the  answer  to  her  remonstrance. 

Ellen  remained  on  the  floor  some  time  af- 
ter her  brutal  father  had  left  the  room,  sob- 
bing as  if  her  little  heart  would  break. 
She-  could  forget  every  thing  but  this  vio- 
lence, for  he  had  ever  been  kind  to  her. 
With  difficulty  she  managed  to  crawl  up  to 
her  little  dingy  room  in  the  attic,  where  she 
cried  herself  to  sleep.  In  the  morning  she 
went  down  stairs,  intending  to  go  to  her 
work  as  usual,  although  feeling  sore  from  the 
inhuman  treatment  of  the  previous  night,  but 
she  was  seized  with  a  sudden  faintness,  and 
was  forced  to  lie  down  on  her  father's  bed. 

A  kind-hearted  woman,  who  resided  in  the 
same  house,  chanced  to  come  into  the  room 
where  she  was  lying,  and  seeing  that  the 
poor  child  was  seriously  ill,  sent  for  a  physi- 
cian, a  young  practitioner,  who  had  just 


86  THE    SILVER    CUP 

taken  tip  his   residence  in  their  immediate 
neighborhood. 

He  obeyed  the  summons  with  the  prompt- 
itude generally  displayed  by  the  members  of 
his  profession,  and  as  soon  as  he  cast  his  eyes 
upon  the  little  sufferer,  he  pronounced  her 
seriously  ill,  and  forbade  her  being  removed 
from  her  bed  on  any  account.  Learning, 
from  the  woman  who  had  caused  him  to  be 
called  in,  that  she  was  entirely  alone,  and  had 
the  care  of  a  drunken  father,  he  saw  that, 
unless  from  himself  she  must  receive  little 
attention  ;  having  therefore  procured  for  her 
the  medicine  which  her  sickness  demanded, 
he  administered  it  himself,  and  left  the 
house,  promising  to  return  early  on  the  fol- 
lowing morning,  but  giving  particular  orders 
that  she  should  on  no  account  be  removed, 
and  if  possible  kept  in  the  most  perfect  quiet. 

Ellen,  soon  after  his  departure,  sank  into 
a  profound  slumber,  and  was  left  alone.  She 
was  awakened,  however,  soon  after  dark,  by 
the  entrance  of  her  father,  who,  as  usual, 
staggered  into  the  room,  and  struck  a  light 
with  some  matches. 


OF    SPARKLING    DBOPS.  87 

"  Why  the has  n't  that  girl  got  any 

fire  ? "  he  muttered,  as  he  shivered,  (for  it  was 
a  bitter  cold  night,)  forgetting  that  there 
was  nothing  with  which  she  could  make  a 
fire,  and  that  he  had  never  provided  for  her 
the  means  of  procuring  fuel.  "  I  wonder 
where  she  is,"  he  hiccupped,  staggering 
toward  his  bed.  "Ah,  there  you  are  —  is 
that  the  way  you  use  your  father,  you  little 
hussy  ?  To  let  him  come  home  in  the  cold, 
and  have  no  fire  for  him  to  warm  himself, 
and  you  too  lazy  to  make  one.  Come,  get 
out  of  bed,  you  lazy  hussy  —  get  out,  and 
make  up  a  fire." 

Ellen  was  too  feeble  to  speak  —  she  was 
in  a  raging  fever,  and  was  unable  to  stir  a 
limb. 

"  Come,  do  you  hear  me  ? "  exclaimed  the 
drunken  brute  —  "  get  up,  I  say,  or  shall  I 
help  you  ? " 

Ellen  in  vain  essayed  to  speak  —  she 
could  not,  but  tears  forced  themselves  from 
her  eyes,  and  coursed  down  her  flushed  and 
and  fevered  cheeks. 

"Always    crying  when    I    come    home. 


88  THE    SILVER    CUP 

That's  just  the  way  with  you.  I  never  find 
any  thing  ready  for  me,  as  I  used  to.  JSTo 
supper,  no  fire —  nothing  but  crying,  for 
ever.  Come,  I  say,  do  you  hear  me  —  get 
up." 

Still  Ellen  did  not,  for  she  could  not  stir, 
nor  could  she  reply  to  his  brutal  demand. 

"  Well,  since  you  won't  help  yourself,  I  '11 
help  you,"  and  the  brute  dragged  her  from 
the  bed,  letting  her  fall  with  stunning 
violence  to  the  floor.  "  There,"  and  he  raised 
her  up,  placing  her  roughly  in  an  old  arm- 
chair, which  stood  near  the  chimney  —  "  sit 
there  as  long  as  you  choose.  I  'm  going  to 
bed,  and  see  that  you  have  a  fire  made  and 
breakfast  ready  for  me  when  I  get  up."  So 
saying,  the  drunkard  threw  himself  into  the 
bed,  and  was  soon  buried  in  the  deep  sleep 
of  intoxication. 

Poor  Ellen  was  too  weak  to  speak,  or  cry 
for  help,  and  there  she  sat,  cold,  sick,  and 
suffering  from  intense  pain.  At  length,  when 
her  father  was  buried  in  a  sleep  so  profound, 
she  knew  she  should  not  awaken  him,  she 
managed  to  crawl  to  the  bedside,  and  take 


OF    SPARKLING    DEOP8.  89 

thence  one  of  the  coverings,  which  she  threw 
across  her  shoulders,  and  staggered  back  to 
her  chair. 

And  thus  she  passed,  the  dreary  night  — 
not  a  sound  did  she  hear  but  the  deep,  heavy 
breathing  of  her  drunken  and  debased  pa- 
rent, who  lay  snoring  there,  while  she  was 
half  perished  with  the  cold. 

In  the  morning,  the  physician,  who  knew 
the  serious  character  of  his  young  patient's 
disease,  called  to  see  her,  and,  without  ma- 
king any  noise,  for  he  hoped  to  find  her 
asleep,  entered  the  chamber  where  he  had 
last  left  her.  His  surprise  was  almost  too 
great  for  utterance,  when,  on  entering  the 
apartment,  he  saw  his  patient,  who  he  knew 
was  in  a  really  critical  situation,  demanding 
the  utmost  care,  seated  on  a  large  chair,  with 
a  blanket  thrown  around  her  shivering  form. 

"  Good  heavens !  my  girl,  what  are  you 
doing  here  ! "  he  exclaimed,  as  he  saw,  by 
the  hectic  flush  on  her  cheek,  despite  her 
shivering,  that  she  was  yet  in  a  raging  fever. 
"Why  are  you  not  in  bed?  You  are  not 
able,  and  ought  not  to  sit  up.  How  could 


90  THE    SILVER    OTJP 

you  be  so  heedless  —  you  must  obey  my 
directions  more  closely." 

A  glance  at  the  bed  was  all  the  reply  El- 
len could  give,  for  her  choked  utterance. 

"  How  long  have  you  been  sitting  up  ? " 

"  All  night,  sir,"  she  replied,  in  feeble  tones. 

"  Have  you  had  no  fire  ?  " 

"No,  sir." 

"  Nor  any  light  ? " 

"  No,  sir." 

"  And  have  you  taken  any  of  the  medicine 
I  left  for  you  ?  " 

"  I  could  not  get  up  to  get  it,  I  was  so 
weak,  and  there  was  no  one  to  give  it  to 


me." 


"  Do  you  mean  to  tell  me,"  exclaimed  the 
physician,  with  an  air  of  incredulity,  "  that 
you  have  been  seated  here  all  night,  without 
a  light  or  fire,  and  without  a  single  human 
being  to  attend  you  —  are  you  telling  me 
the  truth?" 

"  Yes,  sir." 

"  And  how,  in  the  name  of  Heaven,  did  it 
happen  ? "  exclaimed  the  young  man,  every 
feeling  of  his  nature  aroused  by  this  exhibi- 


OP    SPAEKLING    DEOPS.  91 

tion  of  inhumanity  ;  "  you  ought  to  be  in 
bed  now.  This  imprudence  may  cost  you 
your  life." 

The  poor  girl's  tears  broke  out  afresh,  as 
she  replied,  in  feeble  tones,  half  choked  by 
sobs  and  tears,  "Father  came  home  tipsy, 
sir,  and  pulled  me  out  of  bed  !  He  is  asleep 
there  now." 

To  drag  the  stupid,  half-sobered  brute 
from  his  lair,  was  the  work  of  a  single  in- 
stant, for  the  vigorous  arm  of  the  young 
physician,  and  planting  him  on  his  feet,  facing 
himself,  he  addressed  him,  "  You  miserable, 
drunken,  inhuman  brute  1  Did  you  dare  to 
make  that  poor  sick  girl  stay  in  that  chair 
all  night,  without  a  fire  or  light,  cold  and 
sick,  while  you  were  snoring  off  your  drunken 
fit  ?  "  and  the  young  man,  losing  all  patience, 
shook  the  now  affrighted  wretch,  as  though 
he  were  but  a  bundle  of  straw.  "  Answer 
me,  you  villain  !  Do  you  know  what  you 
have  done  ?  If  that  girl  dies,  I  will,  so  help 
me  Heaven,  have  you  indicted  for  murder, 
you  miserable  scoundrel !  Look  at  her — look 
there  ! "  and  he  dragged  the  now  sobered 


92  THE    SILVER    CUP 

man  directly  in  front  of  the  shivering,  suffer- 
•ing  child,  who  sat  there  motionless,  the  tears 
coursing  down  her  cheeks,  while  her  lips 
fairly  chattered  with  the  cold  — "  look  at 
her,  and  if  there  is  a  single  spark  of  man- 
hood left  in  you  —  if  every  sense  is  not  stu- 
pified  by  the  liquor  you  have  swilled  —  go 
on  your  knees  and  thank  God  she  is  not  a 
corpse  ! " 

The  sight  of  the  trembling,  suffering,  shiv- 
ering Ellen,  his  only  child,  recalled  to  the 
miserable  man,  the  occurrences  of  the  pre- 
vious evening,  and  the  feelings  of  the  father 
rose  at  once  victorious.  "  Oh,  father,"  mur- 
mured the  suffering  girl,  as  she  saw  the  agony 
depicted  in  his  countenance,  but  she  could 
say  no  more. 

It  was  enough,  however,  for  the  grief- 
stricken  parent,  who,  sinking  on  his  knees 
grasped  the  hot,  feverish  hand  of  the  suffer- 
ing, ill-used  child,  and  sobbed  as  if  his  heart 
was  breaking. 

"  There,  there,"  said  the  young  physician, 
wiping  from  his  own  eyes  the  tears  which  he 
could  not  restrain.  "  She  must  not  be  exci 


OF    SPAKKLING    DROPS.  93 

ted.  Place  her  in  bed  gently  —  there, 
softly,"  and  gently  they  raised  up  the  suffer- 
ing, but  now  happy  girl.  "  Oh,  father  ! "  she 
said,  feebly,  throwing  her  arms  around  his 
neck,  as  he  laid  her  on  the  bed,  while  the 
hot  tears  fell  from  his  blood-shot  eyes,  "  Oh, 
father  !  do  n't  cry  so  ;  I  shall  soon  get  well, 
now  you  are  so  kind  to  me." 

"  Kind  to  you,  my  child  !  "  he  exclaimed, 
and  sinking  on  his  knees  beside  her  bed,  he 
vowed  before  Heaven,  if  his  child  was  spa- 
red to  him,  never  again  to  yield  to  the  ine- 
briating cup,  and  never  again  to  be  recreant 
to  his  duty  as  a  father. 

"  Now,  then,"  he  said,  arising  and  turning 
to  the  physician,  "what  must  be  done  for 
her?"  But  the  young  physician  was  engros- 
sed with  something  which  was  hanging  over 
the  mantel-piece  in  a  frame. 

"  Do  you  mean  to  say  that  you  are  entitled 
to  this  ?"  he  asked,  doubtingly,  turning  to  the 
father,  for  it  was  a  certificate  of  membership 
to  an  Order,  which,  in  brighter  days,  the 
sober,  industrious  man  had  been  proud  to 
exhibit. 


94  THE    SILVER    CUP 

"  I  did,  sir,"  replied  Mr.  Maxwell,  with  a 
blush,  of  shame  mantling  his  cheek,  "  I  did, 
sir,  but " 

"  You  have  been  expelled.     Is  it  so  ?" 

"  Yes,  sir,  and  very  justly,  too." 

"  You  may  well  say  'justly,'  if  this  has 
been  your  course  of  conduct.  But  come,  I 
will  not  reproach  you  now.  I  grieve  to  see 
a  Brother  so  debased  and  fallen,  but  I  hope 
yet  to  see  you  worthy  of  being  reinstated." 

"  Oh,  sir,  befriend  me  now —  save  me  from 
myself,  and  I  swear  never  again  to  forfeit  the 
regard  of  those  who  have  so  long  been 
ashamed  for  me,"  exclaimed  the  conscience 
sticken  wretch. 

"  Befriend  you  !  To  be  sure  I  will.  Am 
I  not  bound  to  befriend  every  fellow  being 
in  distress  ?  and  though  you  have  forfeited 
your  claim  to  Brotherhood,  you  are  a  Brother 
still.  But  come,  let  us  attend  to  Ellen  here. 
She  needs  all  your  care ;  first  of  all,  you 
must  have  a  fire.  Have  you  no  wood  ?" 

"  No,  but  I  have  some  money  left  from 
the  sale  of  my  bureau.  I  can  soon  get  some." 

"  Make  up  a  fire  at  once,  and  then  get  this 


OF    SPAEKLIKG    DROPS.  95 

medicine,  and  see  it  given  according  to  the 
directions,"  he  said,  handing  him  a  prescrip- 
tion. 

"  Every  thing  shall  be  done  as  you  say,  but 
sir  —  "  and  he  hesitated. 

"  Go  on  ;  what  is  it  you  wish  to  say  ?" 

"  You  will  not  desert  me  now  that  I  need 
a  friend  so  much.  I  am  going  to  try  to  get 
work  —  will  you  let  me  say,  you  know  I  will 
keep  sober  ?" 

"  I  will  ;  for  I  believe  you  to  be  now  sin- 
cere, and  it  is  only  by  adhering  to  your  vow, 
you  can  prove  worthy  of  my  friendship.  I 
will  say  I  believe  you  to  be  sincere  —  God 
knows  you  have  cause  enough  for  sincerity." 

The  fire  was  made,  and  the  medicine  admin- 
istered as  directed,  and  Ellen  was  left  with  the 
kind  woman  who  had  discovered  her  the  pre- 
vious day,  and  who  was  made  happy  in  the 
assurance  of  the  drunken  father's  promised 
reformation.  Having  seen  all  his  daughter's 
wants  cared  for,  he  started  out  in  quest  of 
work,  and  without  a  wish  to  stop,  passed  by 
the  very  porter-house,  in  which  he  had  spent 
the  previous  day,  As  he  looked  within,  and 


96  THE    SILVER    CUP 

saw  groups  of  his  associates  pouring  down 
the  sure  but  tempting  poison,  he  inwardly 
raised  his  heart  to  God  in  thankfulness,  that 
he  was  now  enabled  to  resist  the  temptation 
which  had  so  long  mastered  him,  and  which 
had  wrought  such  misery.  He  went  directly 
to  the  establishment  for  which  he  had  been 
accustomed  to  work,  but  his  eyes,  blood-shot 
with  long-continued  dissipation,  and  with 
weeping  over  his  daughter's  suffering,  and  his 
own  shame,  were  very  much  against  him. 

"  Mr.  A.,"  said  he,  boldly,  approaching  the 
proprietor,  "  I  have  quit  drinking  now,  for 
ever,  and  I  want  you  to  let  me  come  back 
to  work.  You  know  I  was  always  a  good 
workman  when  I  was  steady." 

"  Your  eyes  do  n't  look  much  like  it  novr, 
James,"  replied  Mr.  A.,  kindly.  "  I  know  you 
were  a  good  workman,  but  I  fear  you  will  not 
long  remain  a  sober  man." 

"  But  I  will,  sir,  so  help  me  Heaven.  I 
nearly  killed  my  only  child  last  night,  but  I 
am  sober  now,  and,  please  God,  I  mean  to 
stay  so." 


'OF    SPARKLING    DROPS.  97 

'*'  Is  there  any  one,  James,  who  will  vouch 
ifor  you  ?" 

"  Yes,  sir  ;  Dr.  W.,"  said  James. 

"  I>r.  W. !"  exclaimed  Mr.  A.,  in  surprise, 
""why,  he  belongs  to  our  Order.  Will  he 
vouch  for  you  ?  How  did  he  come  to  know 
you  ?" 

"  Yes,  sir,  he  will;"  and  James  briefly  nar- 
rated the  occurrence  of  the  morning. 

"  Well,  you  may  go  to  work,  and  I  will  see 
the  Doctor  this  morning.  If  you  have  got 
so  good  a  friend  as  Dr.  W.,  you  are  in  good 
hands." 

James  went  to  work  with  a  cheerful  heart, 
but  his  associates  were,  at  first,  rather  shy  of 
him.  They  knew  how  recklessly  dissipated 
he  had  been,  and  they  regretted  his  return 
among  them,  for  they  feared  his  example 
among  the  younger  hands.  He  noticed,  too, 
their  distant  behavior,  but  in  the  confidence 
that  his  own  good  conduct  would  soon  wear 
that  oft^  he  worked  on  in  silence,  and  worked 
«o  well,  as  to  draw  forth  the  merited  appro- 
val of  the  foreman. 


98  THE    SILVEK    CUP 

When  the  work  of  the  day  was  closed,, 
and  as  the  men  were  preparing  to  return  to- 
their  homes,  James  spoke  out :  "  Boys,  you 
all  know  what  I  have  been  before  I  turned  a 
drunkard.  Now,  I'm  a  sober  man,  and  I 
hope  you  are  not  going  to  dishearten  me,  by 
not  believing  me.  So  help  me  God,  I  am 
never  going  to  drink  again."  There  was  an 
honest  sincerity  in  his  countenance  as  he 
spoke,  which  carried  conviction  with  his 
words,  and  every  hardy  hand  was  stretched 
out  to  him  in  warm  congratulation. 

In  answer  to  questions  as  to  his  little 
daughter,  whom  they  all  knew,  as  she  used 
to  bring  his  dinner  to  him,  he  very  frankly 
related  all  the  occurrences  of  the  night  and 
morning,  and  when  he  mentioned  that  she 
was  sick,  and  alone,  a  dozen  kind  voices^ 
promised  that  their  wives  should  come 
around  and  see  her.  And,  what  is  morer 
they  did  come,  and,  thanks  to  a  father's 
kindness,  and  their  neighborly  attention 
backed  by  the  skill  of  the  kind  Dr.  W.,  El- 
len was  soon  restored  to  health.  As  she 
brought  her  father's  dinner,  as  usual,  to  himr 


OF    SPABKLING    DKOPS.  99 

on  the  first  day  she  was  able  to  go  out,  she 
was  received  by  all  the  honest,  hard-working 
men,  with  as  much  kindness  as  though  she 
were  a  child  of  their  own. 

True  to  his  promise,  Dr.  W.  did  see  James 
Maxwell  reinstated,  and  on  the  following 
week  thereafter,  James  brought  home  a  new 
certificate,  which  he  hung  up  in  the  place  of 
the  one  Jie  had  forfeited,  and  thenceforward 
he  remained  true  to  his  pledge. 

I  hoped  in  glimmering  consciousness,  that  all  this  torture 

was  a  dream; 

Yet  life  is  oft  so  like  a  dream,  we  know  not  where  we  are. 

TUPPER. 


lib  dnh  so  mil  it? 

BY  ELIZA  COOK. 

Did  God  so  will  it  ?     Truth  is  in  the  tone 
That  so  arraigns  the  evil  deeds  of  man, 

And  worshipers  at  the  Eternal  Throne 

Will  breathe  it  forth  in  face  of  mortal  ban, 

We  note  dark  scenes  that  crowd  upon  our  eyes, 
Rousing  the  bosom  but  to  chafe  and  chill  it ; 


100  THE    SILVEK    C  TJ  P 

Oh,  who  shall  gaze,  nor  feel  the  question  rise  — 
Did  God  so  will  it? 

The  holy  word,  typed  by  the  gentle  bird 

Of  holy  peace,  is  often  yelled  around 
As  a  fierce  war-cry  —  scaring  while 't  is  heard, 

Baiting  and  baying  where  bold  thought  is  found. 
"  Be  merciful,"  is  the  divine  behest ; 

Priests  with  the  mission,  how  do  ye  fulfill  it  ? 
Even  as  tyranny  and  strife  attest — 

Did  God  so  will  it? 

The  red-skinned  savage  holds  his  hunting  field 

As  Nature's  heritage  by  human  law, 
Content  with  what  the  bush  and  river  yield, 

His  rugged  wigwam  and  his  tawny  squaw. 
But  the  smooth  white-face  drives  him  back  and  back , 

Let  his  voice  tell  of  right,  and  might  shall  still  it, 
Till  his  free  steps  are  thrust  from  their  own  track  — 
Did  God  so  will  it? 

The  heirs  of  fortune  eat,  drink,  laugh,  and  sleep, 
Scarce  knowing  winter's  cold  from  Summer's  heat; 

Strange  contrast  with  the  lank  pinched  forms  that 
With  roofless  heads,  and  bleeding,  hearthless  feet. 

While  sated  Wealth  reclines  to  cull  and  sip, 
Where  the  full  feast  is  decked  with  flowery 

Wonder  and  Hunger  ask  with  moody  lip  — 
Did  God  so  will  it? 


OF    SPARKLING    DROPS.  101 

'  T  is  a  fit  question  when  the  coward  hand 
Deals  needless  anguish  to  the  patient  brute ; 

Proud  upright  thing  of  clay,  thou  had'st  command 
To  rule,  but  not  to  torture  the  poor  mute. 

When  thou  would'st  urge  the  brave  steed  to  a  task, 
Knowing  the  mean,  inhuman  work  will  kill  it, 

Hearest  not  thou  the  voice  of  conscience  ask  — 
Did  God  so  will  it  ? 

Crime  clothed  in  greatness  holds  a  wondrous  claim 
On  the  world's  tenderness  —  't  is  few  will  dare 

To  call  foul  conduct  by  its  proper  name 
When  it  can  prowl  and  prey  in  golden  lair ; 

But  let  the  pauper  sin  —  Virtue  disgraced, 

Rears  a  high  seat,  and  Vengeance  stern  must  fill  it. 

Justice,  thy  bandage  is  not  fairly  placed  — 
Did  God  so  will  it? 

'  T  is  a  fit  question  to  be  put  to  man 

When  he  would  trample  hearts  already  sad, 

Reckless  what  pressing  trials  crowd  the  span 
Of  others'  days  —  so  that  his  own  is  glad. 

'  T  is  a  broad  taxing  but  the  chainless  mind 

Will  dare  to  raise  the  doubtings  that  shall  thrill  it, 

Enquiring  oft,  'mid  factions  base  and  blind, 
Did  God  so  will  it? 

Who  can  look  out  upon  the  earth  and  see 

Much  that  is  there,  without  a  startling  fear 
That  Man  has  darkly  set  the  upas  tree 


102  THE    SILVER    CUP 

Where  Nature  gave  him  vineyard  fruits  to  rear  ? 
Sorrow,  oppression,  carnage,  madness,  pain  — 

Read  the  world's  record  —  note  how  these  shall  fill  it 
Shrink  not,  but  question  straight  with  heart  and  brain, 
Did  God  so  will  it  ? 


I  gazed  upon  the  tattered  garb 
Of  one  who  stood  a  listener  by; 

The  hand  of  misery  pressed  him  hard, 
And  tears  of  sorrow  swelled  his  eye. 

I  gazed  upon  his  pallid  cheek, 

And  asked  him  how  his  cares  begun  - 

He  sighed,  and  thus  essayed  to  speak; 
"  The  cause  of  all  my  grief  is  rum." 

I  watched  a  maniac  through  the  gate, 
Whose  raving  shook  me  to  the  soul; 

I  asked  what  sealed  his  wretched  fate, 
The  answer  was  —  "  the  cursed  bowl" 

I  asked  a  convict  in  his  chains, 

While  tears  along  his  cheek  did  roll; 


OF    SPARKLING    DROPS.  103 

What  devil  urged  him  on  to  crime  — 
His  answer  was  —  "  the  cursed  bowL" 

I  asked  the  murderer  when  the  rope 

Hung  round  his  neck  in  death's  hard  roll; 

Bereft  of  pardon,  and   of  hope  — 
His  answer  was — u  the  cursed  bowL" 


iw  Imaq, 


Bring  me  forth  the  cup  of  gold, 
Chased  by  Druid's  hands  of  old, 
Filled  at  yonder  fountain's  breast, 
Where  the  waters  are  at  rest; 
This  for  me  —  in  joyous  hour, 
"This  for  me  —  in  beauty's  bower, 
This  for  me  —  in  manhood's  prime, 
This  for  me  —  in  life's  decline. 

Bring  me  forth  the  humbler  horn, 
Filled  by  hunter's  hand  at  morn, 
From  the  chrystal  spring  that  flows 
Underneath  the  blooming  rose, 
Where  the  violet  loves  to  sip, 
Wliere  the  lily  cools  her  lip; 


104  THE    SILVER    CUP' 

Bring  me  this — and  I  will  say, 
Take  the  ruby  wine  away! 

Dip  the  bucket  in  the  well, 
Where  the  trout  delights  to  dwell — . 
Where  the  sparkling  water  sings, 
As  it  bubbles  from  the  springs, 
Where  the  breezes  whisper  sweet, 
Where  the  happy  children  meet, 
Draw,  and  let  the  draught  be  mine- 
Take  away  the  rosy  wine ! 


Inigtrt  of  %  JUnglrt. 


BY   GIFTIE. 


IF  to  be  seated,  on  a  bright  winter's  day,, 
before  a  glowing  fire  of  anthracite,  with  one's 
feet  on  the  fender,  and  one's  form  half  buried 
in  the  depths  of  a  cushioned  easy-chair,  hold- 
ing the  uncut  pages  of  the  last  novel,  be  in- 
deed the  practical  definition  of  happiness^ 
then  EMMA  LESLIE  was  to  be  envied  as  she- 
sat  thus  cosily,  one  afternoon,  listening  to  the- 
animated  discussion  going  on  between  ar& 


OF    SPARKLING    DROPS.  105 

elderly  lady  and  gentleman  on  the  opposite 
of  the  fire  place.  The  discussion  ran  on 
a  grave  subject  —  a  very  grave  subject  — 
one  which  has  puzzled  the  heads  of  wise 
men,  and  turned  the  wits  of  weak  ones.  But 
though  the  argument  grew  every  moment 
more  close  and  earnest,  the  fair  listener  had 
the  audacity  to  laugh,  in  clear,  silvery  tones, 
that  told  there  was  not  one  serious  thought 
in  her  mind,  as  she  said, 

"  Nay,  good  uncle,  a  truce  to  these  gener- 
alities. If,  as  I  imagine,  all  this  talk  upon 
woman's  duties  has  been  for  my  special  edifi- 
cation, pray  be  more  explicit  and  tell  me 
what  part  I  am  to  play  in  the  general  reform 
you  propose  ?" 

The  gentleman  thus  addressed  looked  up 
at  this  interruption,  and  replied,  in  a  tone 
slightly  acidified, 

"  For  your  benefit  also  has  been  your  Aunt 
Mary's  clear  position  of  what  woman  may, 
and  should  be.  Perhaps  you  will  profit  as 
much  by  her  suggestions  as  you  seem  to  do 
by  mine." 

"  Do  not  give  me  up  as  incorrigible  just 


106  THE    SILVER    CUP 

as  I  am  coming  to  be  taught  how  to  be 
good,"  said  Emma,  with  mock  gravity.  "With 
regard  to  this  subject  of  temperance,  of 
which  you  were  just  speaking,  and  upon 
which  you  say  woman  has  so  much  influence, 
what  shall  I  do  ?  How  can  I  reclaim  the 
drunkard  ?  while  I  move  in  a  circle  where 
the  degraded  creatures  are  not  admitted. 
They  will  not  be  influenced  by  a  person  who 
has  no  feelings  or  sympathies  in  common 
with  them,  even  were  it  proper  for  me  to 
descend  to  their  level,  in  order  to  help  them." 

"  That  may  be.  The  tide  of  gay  and 
fashionable  life  sweeps  over  and  buries  in 
oblivion  the  ruin  its  forms  and  ceremonies 
help  to  make.  Yet  there  are  some  you 
might  reach.  Some  who  are  just  beginning 
to  sink,  and  whom  men  cannot  influence 
because  they  are  too  proud  to  own  their 
danger." 

"  How  less  likely,  then,  would  a  woman  be 
to  influence  them,"  replied  Emma.  "You 
know  how  men  try  to  conceal  their  vices  and 
foibles  from  us." 

"True,  but  yet  men  do  not  suspect  the 


SPARKLIKO    DROPS.         107 

of  doubting  their  power  to  reform 
themselves,  aad  are  therefore  more  willing  to 
'4>e  advised  and  pursuaded  by  them  to  aban- 
don their  bad  habits,  which  have  not  yet 
become  fixed,  vices.  Woman's  intuitive  per- 
ception of  what  should  be  said,  and  the 
Tight  moment  to  say  it,  men  rarely  possess  ; 
^and  this  gives  your  sex  a  superiority  over 
<ours  in  the  work  of  reform.  Yet,  alas  !  how 
often  is  this  influence  employed  to  lure  the 
wandering  feet  further  and  further  from  the 
path  of  virtue" 

"  Beware,  uncle,  1 711  have  no  slander,77  re- 
plied Emma,  half  vexed. 

"It  is  not  slander.  How  often  have  I 
;seen  you,  Emma,  with  smiles  and  gay  words, 
•sipping  that  which,  however  harmless  to  you, 
is  poison  to  some  of  your  thoughtless  com- 
panions. Were  you  pure  in  word  and  deed 
"from  all  contamination  in  that  behalf,  how 
different  would  be  your  influence.  Yet  you 
refused  to  join  the  Temperance  Society  I 
am  endeavoring  to  establish  in  our  neighbor- 
hood." 

41  But  you  know,"  said  Emma,  with  a  proud 


108  Tffff    SILVER    C0F 

curl  of  her  ruby  lip,  "  that  I  am  in  no  danger. 
Why,  should  my  name  be  mixed  with  the 
common  herd  f 

"That  is  false  pride,  un worth  a  true- 
hearted  woman.  To  refuse  to  aid  a  reforming 
movement  that  will  assist  thousands,  simply 
because  it  will  not  benefit  you,  because  you: 
do  not  need  its  help.  I  did  not  need  its  help* 
I  did  not  think  you  so  selfish." 

"  I  am  not  selfish.  You  shall  not  call  me 
such  ugly  names,"  replied  the  niece,  striving 
to  turn  the  conversation  from  the  serious  turn 
it  had  taken.  "  You  know  very  well  it  i» 
only  my  humility  that  speaks.  I  do  n't  think 
Women  have  any  right  to  form  societies  and 
make  laws.  All  that  honor  and  glory  I  am 
willing  to  leave  to  men,  and  only  ask  for  my 
sex  the  liberty  of  doing  as  they  please  in  the 
humble  station  assigned  to  them  by  the  lords 
of  creation.  You  may  rule  the  world,  and 
give  orders,  and  we  will  —  break  them." 

"  Yes,"  said  her  uncle,  rising  to  go,  "  you 
will  break  them,  indeed  —  break  all  laws  of 
justice,  honor,  and  humanity  in  your  giddy 
course" 


OF    SPARKLIKG    DROPS.  109 

"  Nay,"  Emma  said,  rising  and  holding  his 
hands  in  hers  as  he  was  about  to  leave  the 
room, 

"  Put  down  your  hat,  do  n't  take  your  atick, 
Now,  prithe,  uncle,  stay. 

"I  will  not  let  you  go  thinking  me  so 
naughty  and  saucy.  Do  n't  look  so  sober,  or 
I  shall  certainly  cry,  and  you  know  you  hate 
such  scenes.  I  am  really  half  convinced  by 
your  arguments,  but  were  I  to  sign  the 
pledge,  what  good  would  it  do  ?  I  have  no 
desire  to  go  about  with  a  sermon  on  my  brow, 
to  bestow  on  all  luckless  wights  who  touch, 
taste,  or  handle.  It  is  not  genteel  to  scold, 
and  I  fancy  they  might  think  me  impertinent 
were  I  to  advise.  Who  is  there  among  my 
acquaintance  who  would  not  resent  my  inter- 
ference with  their  habits  in  this  respect  ?  " 

"There  is  your  cousin,  Edward,"  replied 
her  uncle,  seating  himself  again.  "  You 
know  well  how  to  lead  him  in  your  train 
through  all  kinds  of  fun  and  folly  ;  perhaps 
you  might  induce  him  to  sign  the  temperance 
pledge  ? " 


lit)        t  THE    SILVER    CUP 

"  But  Edward  is  strictly  temperata  He 
rarely  takes  even  wine." 

"  True,  and  I  do  n't  think  him  in  danger 
of  becoming  less  so.  But  his  position  in 
society  gives  him  great  influence  over  the 
young  men  with  whom  he  associates ;  and 
some  who  follow  his  example  in  refusing  to 
sign  the  pledge,  are  unable  to  follow  him  in 
controlling  their  appetites." 

"  There  is  young  Saville,  too,"  said  Aunt 
Mary.  "  It  is  whispered  among  his  friends, 
that  unless  something  arrests  his  course,  he 
will  ere  long  be  ruined." 

A  flush  passed  over  Emma's  beautiful  face 
as,  in  a  tone  of  surprise  and  horror,  she  ex- 
claimed, "  What,  George  Saville  !  with  his 
genius  and  eloquence  —  is  he  a  slave  to  that 
vice  V 

"  They  say,"  replied  her  aunt,  "  that  much 
of  his  fiery  eloquence  arises  from  the  fumes 
of  brandy,  and  the  sparkling  wit  that  makes 
him  so  delightful  is  caught  from  bubbles 
that  dance  on  the  wine-cup.  When  the 
excitement,  thus  produced,  passes  away,  he 
^s  dull  and  spiritless." 


OF    SPARKLING    DKOPS.          Ill 

"  And  will  no  one  warn  him  —  no  one 
Bave  him  ? "  said  Emma,  thoughtfully. 

"  Who  can  do  it  so  well  as  yourself  ?"  said 
her  uncle.  "  Is  he  not  one  of  the  worshipers 
at  your  shrine  ?  Of  what  avail  is  it  to  be 
young  and  beautiful  and  wealthy,  if  the  in- 
fluence such  accidents  give,  be  not  employed 
in  the  cause  of  truth  and  virtue  ?" 

Emma  did  not  reply,  and  her  uncle  left 
the  .room,  where  she  remained  a  long  time 
in  deep  thought,  roused  and  startled  by  the 
new  ideas  presented  to  her  mind,  for  giddy 
and  thoughtless  as  she  seemed,  she  possessed 
a  mind  and  heart  capable  of  deep  feeling 
and  energetic  action. 

The  same  evening  she  was  seated  by  the 
piano,  drawing  thence  a  flood  of  melody, 
while  her  Cousin  Edward  and  George  Saville 
stood  beside  her.  But  the  attention  of  the 
latter  seemed  more  absorbed  by  the  fair 
musician  than  by  the  sweet  sounds  produced 
by  her  flying  fingers  ;  and  directing  his  com- 
panion's attention  to  the  soft  brown  hair  that 
fell  in  long  shining  ringlets  around  her  pure 


112  THE    SILVER    CTTP 

brow,  and  over  her  snowy  neck,  he  said,  in 
a  tone  intended  to  reach  his  ear  alone — 

"  What  would  you  give  to  possess  one  of 
those  curls  2" 

Low  as  were  the  words,  Emma  heard 
them,  and  pausing  suddenly,  said,  "What 
would  you  give  ?" 

"  Any  thing  —  every  thing,"  said  the  young 
man  eagerly. 

"Would  you  give  your  liberty  —  would 
you  bind  yourself  to  do  my  bidding  ?"  asked 
the  maiden  in  a  tone  which  playful  gayety 
strove  to  hide  a  deeper  feeling. 

"The  liberty  to  disobey  your  will,  lady, 
has  long  been  lost,"  replied  Saville,  with  a 
glance  that  well-nigh  destroyed  Emma's  self- 
possession.  "It  were  a  small  matter  to 
acknowledge  it  by  my  vow." 

"  On  that  condition  it  is  yours,"  said  Em- 
ma, while  the  rich  blush  that  mantled  her 
cheek  and  brow,  made  her  more  beautiful 
than  ever  as  she  severed  from  her  queenly 
head  one  of  the  longest  of  the  luxurient 
tresses  with  which  nature  had  adorned  it. 

"  Ma  belle  Emma,"  interposed  Edward  as 


OF    SPARKLING    DROPS.  113 

she  did  this,  "  I  cannot  allow  of  such  par- 
tiality. Let  me  take  the  oath  of  allegiance 
and  gain  an  equal  prize." 

"Will  you  dare?"  replied  Emma,  gayly. 
u  Will  you  bow  your  haughty  spirit  to  do 
my  bidding  ?  Beware,  for  when  you  have 
vowed  you  .are  completely  in  my  power." 

"  And  a  very  tyrant  you  will  be,  no  doubt, 
fair  queen,  yet  I  accept  the  vow.  Royalty 
needs  new  disciples  when  there  are  so  many 
deserters." 

"Kneel,  then,  Cousin  Edward,  and  you 
also,  Mr.  Saville,  and  rise  Knights  of  the 
Ringlet,  bound  to  serve  in  all  things  the  will 
of  your  sovereign  lady."  So  saying,  she 
placed  half  of  the  ringlet  on  the  shoulder 
of  each  gentleman,  as  they  knelt  in  mock 
humility  before  her.  Some  unutterable  feel- 
ing seemed  to  compel  Saville  to  look  the 
thanks  he  would  have  spoken,  but  Edward 
with  a  conscious  privilege,  seized  her  hand, 
and  kissing  it,  exclaimed,  as  he  threw  himself 
into  "  an  attitude," 

"Thy  will,  and  thine  alone, 
For  ever  and  a  day, 


114  THE    SILVER    CUP 

By  sea  and  land,  through  fire  and  flood, 
We  promise  to  obey." 


About  a  month  after,  Edward  and  his 
cousin  found  themselves  listening  to  the  elo- 
quent appeals  of  a  well  known  temperance 
lecturer.  He  dwelt  upon  the  woes  and  ruins 
of  intemperance,  and  the  responsibility  of 
every  one  who  did  not  do  all  in  his  power  to 
remedy  the  evil.  At  the  close  of  the  lecture 
the  pledge  was  passed  among  the  audience. 
When  it  came  to  where  they  were  sitting, 
Emma  took  it,  and  offering  Edward  her  pen- 
cil, whispered,  "  Let  the  Knight  of  the  Ring- 
let perform  his  vow."  He  looked  at  her 
enquiringly.  She  traced  her  own  name  be- 
neath those  written  there,  and  bade  him  do 
the  same.  For  an  instant  he  hesitated,  and 
was  half  offended  with  her  for  the  stratagem, 
but  good  sense  and  politeness  both  forbade  a 
refusal,  and  he  complied. 

It  was  a  more  delicate  task  to  exert  the 
same  influence  over  the  proud  and  sensitive 
Saville,  but  at  length  the  opportunity  oc- 
curred. 


OF    SPARKLING    DBOPS.  115 

One  evening,  as  he  mingled  with  the 
groups  that  filled  the  splendid  drawing- 
rooms  of  the  fashionable  Mi's.  B — ,  one  of 
his  acquaintances  came  up  and  filling  two 
glasses  with  wine  that  stood  on  the  marble 
side-table,  offered  one  to  him.  As  he  was 
raising  it  to  his  lips,  a  rose-bud  fell  over  his 
shoulder  into  the  glass,  and  a  voice  near  him 
said,  in  low,  musical  tone,  "Touch  it  not 
Knight  of  the  Ringlet,  I  command  you  by 
this  token ;"  and  turning,  he  saw  Emma 
standing  beside  him.  As  she  met  his  gaze, 
she  passed  her  delicate  hand  through  the 
dark  curls  that  shaded  her  lovely  face,  and 
shaking  her  finger  at  him  impressively,  was 
lost  in  the  crowd.  Saville  stood  looking 
after  her  with  a  bewildered  air,  as  if  lost  in 
thought,  until  the  laugh  of  his  companion 
brought  him  to  himself.  "  Excuse  me,"  he 
said,  putting  down  the  glass.  "  You  saw  the 
spell  flung  over  me,  I  am  under  oath  to  obey 
the  behests  of  beauty.1' 

Emma  watched  him  through  the  evening, 
but  he  seemed  to  avoid  her,  and  appeared 
thoughtful  and  sad.  They  did  not  meet 


116  THE    SILVER    CUP 

again  until  at  a  late  hour  ;  she  was  stepping 
into  her  carriage  to  return  home,  when  sud- 
denly he  appeared  at  her  side  and  assisting 
her  into  it,  entreated,  "  Fair  queen,  permit  the 
humblest  of  your  most  loyal  subjects  the 
honor  of  escorting  you  to  the  palace."  She 
assented,  and  the  carnage  had  no  sooner 
started  than  in  a  voice,  trembling  with  earn- 
estness, he  added,  "  and  permit  me  to  ask  if 
your  command  this  evening  was  merely  an 
exercise  of  power,  or  did  a  deeper  meaning 
lie  therein  ?" 

"  I  did  mean  to  -warn  you,"  said  Emma, 
gently,  "  that  there  was  poison  in  the  glass  — 
slow,  perchance,  but  sure." 

"  And  do  you  think  me  in  danger,  Miss 
Leslie  ?" 

"  I  think  all  in  danger  who  do  not  adopt 
the  rule  of  total  abstinence  ;  and  pardon 
me,  if  I  say  that  with  your  excitable  temper- 
ament, I  imagine  you  to  be  in  more  than 
ordinary  peril." 

There  was  a  long  pause.  When  he  spoke 
again  his  tones  were  calmer. 

"I  did  not  imagine  I  could  ever  become 


OF    SPARKLING    DROPS.         117 

a  slave  to  apptite.  Often  while  suffering 
from  the  fatigue  induced  by  writing,  I  have 
taken  brandy,  and  been  revived  by  it.  Some- 
times before  going  to  speak  in  public  I  have 
felt  the  need  of  artificial  stimulus  to  invigor- 
ate my  shattered  nerves.  Do  you  think  that 
improper  indulgence  ?" 

"  Do  you  not  find,"  said  Emma,  "  that  this 
lassitude  returns  more  frequently,  and  re- 
quires more  stimulus  to  overcome  it  than 
formerly  2" 

"  It  is  true,"  said  he,  thoughtfully  ;  "  I  often 
speak  with  more  fluency  when  under  such 
excitement  than  I  can  possibly  do  at  other 
times." 

"  Once  it  was  not  so,"  said  Emma,  kindly. 

"  Very  true,  but  this  kind  of  life  wears  on 
my  system.  I  cannot  get  through  with  my 
public  duties  without  help  of  this  kind." 

"  Does  not  this  show,"  replied  Emma,  "  that 
you  have  already  somewhat  impaired  those 
noble  powers  with  which  you  are  endowed  ? 
"Would  it  not  be  better,  nobler,  as  well  as 
safer  to  trust  solely  to  yourself  than  to  de- 
pend on  the  wild  excitement  thus  induced  ?" 


118  THE    SILVER    CUP 

"  It  does,  indeed  ;  fool  that  I  have  been  to 
think  myself  secure.  But,  thank  heaven  !  I 
am  yet  master.  I  can  control  myself  if  I 
choose." 

By  this  time  they  had  arrived  at  the  door 
of  Miss  Leslie's  mansion. 

"  Let  me  detain  you  one  moment,"  said  Sa- 
ville,  as  they  stood  upon  the  steps,  "  to  ask 
you  if  you  have  heard  others  speak  of  this. 
Tell  me  truly,"  he  added,  as  she  hesitated. 
"  Do  the  public  know  that  I  am  not  always 
master  of  myself?" 

a  I  have  heard  it  intimated  you  were  injur- 
ing yourself  in  this  way,"  replied  Emma,  in 
a  low  voice,  doubtful  how  the  intelligence 
would  be  received. 

"  And  you,"  said  the  young  man  fervently, 
"  you  were  the  kind  angel  who  interposed  to 
save  me  from  the  precipice  over  which  I  have 
well  nigh  fallen.  Be  assured  the  warning 
shall  not  be  in  vain.  A  thousand  thanks  for 
this  well-timed  caution,"  he  added,  more 
cheerfully,  as  they  parted,  "  the  Knight  of 
the  Ringlet  will  not  forget  his  vow." 

For  a  few  moments  the  joyous  excitement 


OF    SPARKLING    DKOPS.  119 

of  his  spirit  continued,  as  he  thought  of  the 
interest  in  him  which  her  conversation  and 
actions  had  that  evening  evinced.  But  when 
the  door  closed  and  shut  her  fairy  form  from 
his  sight,  a  shadow  fell  over  his  heart.  Other 
feelings  arose  and  whispered  that,  after  all,  it 
was  but  pity  that  actuated  her.  Love  — 
would  she  not  rather  despise  his  weakness 
that  had  need  of  such  a  caution  ?  Then 
came  a  sense  of  wounded  pride,  an  idea  that 
his  confession  had  humbled  him  before  her, 
and  ere  he  reached  his  home  he  had  become 
so  deeply  desponding  that  he  was  meditating 
taking  passage  for  England,  and  doing  a 
thousand  other  desperate  things,  so  that  he 
never  again  might  see  the  gentle  monitress 
who,  he  had  persuaded  himself,  regarded 
him  with  pity  that  was  more  akin  to  disgust 
than  love. 

A  letter  received  the  next  morning,  calling 
him  into  the  country  for  a  week,  prevented 
his  executing  his  rash  designs  ;  but  a  feeling, 
unaccountable  even  to  himself,  made  him  shun 
the  places  where  he  was  accustomed  to  meet 
Emma,  and  made  him  miserable,  till  three  or 


120  THE    SILVER    CUP 

four  weeks  afterward,  merely  by  accident,  hi 
found  himself  seated  opposite  to  her  at  a 
concert.  Was  it  fancy,  or  did  she  look  sad 
and  thoughtful ;  and  why  did  her  eye  roam 
over  the  crowd,  as  if  seeking  some  one  it 
found  not.  So  he  thought  to  himself,  till 
suddenly,  in  their  gazing,  his  eyes  met  hers. 
Instantly  she  turned  away,  and  then,  in  a 
moment  after,  gave  him  an  earnest,  enquiring 
glance,  full  of  troubled  thought  At  that 
look,  the  demon  which  tormented  him  van- 
ished and  a  flood  of  inexpressible  love  filled 
his  soul.  He  could  not  go  to  her,  hemmed  in 
as  he  was  by  the  audience  ;  but  he  did  not 
cease  looking  at  her  through  the  evening. 
In  vain,  she  gave  no  second  look  or  sign  of 
consciousness  of  his  presence. 

"  She  is  offended  with  me,"  he  soliloquized, 
as  he  went  homeward  ;  "  and  no  wonder ; 
how  like  a  fool  I  have  acted.  I  will  go  to 
her  to-morrow  and  tell  her  all." 

In  the  morning  he  called,  but  others  had 
been  before  him,  and  the  drawing-room  was 
well  supplied  with  loungers.  He  staid  as 
long  as  decency  would  permit,  but  Miss 


OF    SPARKLING    DROPS.  121 

^Leslie  was  not  at  all  cordial  in  her  manner 
toward  him,  "and  the  dear  five  hundred 
friends  "  kept  coming  and  going,  so  that  no 
opportunity  offered  for  the  explanation.  "  I 
will  go  again  this  evening,"  said  he  to  him- 
self; and  so  he  did.  Emma  stood  at  the 
window,  beside  a  stand  of  magnificent  plants, 
whose  blossoms  filled  the  room  with  fra- 
grance. The  lamps  had  not  been  lighted, 
and  the  moonlight  fell  in  a  halo  of  glory 
around  her,  as  she  stood  in  sad  reverie  that 
cast  a  pensive  shade  over  her  face,  usually  so 
brilliant  in  its  beauty.  So  absorbed  was  she, 
that  she  did  not  hear  the  door  open,  and  was 
unconscious  of  Saville's  presence  till  he  was 
at  her  side. 

"  You  received  me  coldly,  fair  lady,  this 
morning,  so  that  I  came  back  to  see  if  you 
are  offended  with  me,"  said  he,  as  she  turned 
to  receive  him. 

"  And  I,  in  my  turn,  ask  you  the  same 
question,  or  else  why  have  you  absented 
yourself  so  long  ?" 

"  I  was  not  offended  —  ah,  no  !"  said  Sa- 
ville,  dropping  the  tone  of  forced  gayety  in 


122  THE    SILVER    OTTF 

which  he  had  at  first  spoken,  "  but  can  yot* 
not  understand  why  I  have  thus  exiled  my- 
self ?  Did  you  not  know  it  was  that  I  feared 
you  might  despise  me  —  you  from  whomr 
more  than  from  any  one  else,  I  desired, 
esteem,  admiration  —  love"  The  last  word 
was  spoken  in  a  lower  tone,  and  he  looked 
at  her  appealingly,  as  if  to  ask  forgiveness 
for  having  uttered  it.  For  one  instant  he 
met  the  gaze  of  Emma's  dark  blue  eyes,  and 
he  must  have  read  something  there  he  did 
not  expect  to  find,  for  the  expression  of  his 
own  changed  into  one  so  hopeful  and  earnest 
that  Emma's  sunk  beneath  its  light.  And 
when  he  drew  Emma  into  a  seat  beside  him, 
and  in  a  few  rapid  words  told  her  what,  in, 
fact,  she  knew  before,,  how  long  and  how  well 
he  had  loved  her,  I  don't  know  what  she 
said,  for,  reader,  I  came  away  then. 

But  I  do  know  that  one  morning,  six 
months  after,  some  carriages  went  from  Mr, 
Leslie's  mansion  to  the  church,  and  came 
back  with  a  party  looking  most  auspiciously 
happy,  and  that  some  hours  after,  as  Edward 
was  conducting  his  Cousin  Emma  to  a 


OF    SPARKLING    DROPS.          123 

traveling  carriage,  which  stood  at  the  door, 
he  said,  "  So  you  and  Saville  have  changed 
positions  and  you  are  henceforth  to  obey. 
What  a  tyrant  I  would  be  were  I  in  his 
place.  Pray  does  this  morning's  act  cancel 
former  obligations  ?" 

"  The  contract  is  unbroken,"  said  Saville, 
answering  for  his  bride,  and  producing  a 
locket  containing  the  ringlet  —  "  here  is  the 
token  that  renders  the  vow  perpetual." 


<®hf  Cm  of 

o 


BY  ELIZA  COOK. 


Let  the  king  of  the  grave  be  asked  to  tell 

The  plant  that  he  loveth  best, 
And  it  will  not  be  the  cypress  tree, 

Though  'tis  ever  the  churchyard  guest; 
He  will  not  mark  the  hemlock  dark, 

Nor  stay  where  the  nightshade  spreads; 
He  will  not  say  'tis  the  sombre  yew, 

Though  it  springs  o'er  skeleton  heads; 
He  will  not  point  to  the  willow  branch, 

Where  breaking  spirits  pine  beneath; 


124  THE    SILVER    CTJP 

For  a  brighter  leaf  sheds  deeper  grief, 
And  a  fairer  tree  is  the  tree  of  death. 

But  where  the  green,  rich  stalks  are  seen, 

Where  ripe  fruit  gush  and  shine, 
"This,  this,"  cries  he,  "is  the  tree  for  me  — 

The  vine,  the  beautiful  vine! 
I  crouch  among  the  emerald  leaves, 

Gemmed  with  the  ruby  grapes; 
I  dip  my  spear,  in  the  poison  here, 

And  he  is  strong  that  escapes. 
Crouds  dance  round,  with  satyr  bound, 

Till  my  dart  is  hurled  from  its  traitor  sheath; 
When  I  shriek  with  glee  —  no  friend  to  me 

Is  so  true  as  the  vine,  the  tree  of  death." 

Oh!  the  glossy  vine  has  a  serpent  charm, 

It  bears  an  unblest  fruit; 
There's  a  taint  about  each  tendrilled  arm, 

And  a  curse  upon  its  root. 
Its  juice  may  flow  to  warm  the  brow, 

And  wildly  lighten  the  eye, 
But  the  phrenzied  mirth  of  a  reveling  crew 

Will  make  the  wise  man  sigh; 
For  the  maniac  laugh,  the  trembling  frame, 

The  idiot  speech  and  pestilent  breath, 
The  shattered  mind,  the  blasted  frame, 

Are  wrought  by  the  vine,  the  tree  of  death. 

Fill,  fill  the  glass,  and  let  it  pass; 
But,  ye  who  quaff !  oh,  think 


OF    SPARKLING    DROPS.  125 

That  even  the  heart  that  loves  must  loathe 

The  lips  that  deeply  drink. 
The  breast  may  mourn,  o'er  a  close  link  torn, 

And  the  scalding  drops  may  roll; 
But  'tis  better  to  mourn  o'er  a  pulseless  form 

Than  the  wreck  of  a  living  soul. 
Then  a  health  to  the  hemlock,  the  cypress  and  yew, 

The  worm- hiding  grass,  and  the  willow-wreath; 
For,  though  shading  the  tomb,  they  fling  not  a  gloom, 

So  dark  as  the  vine,  the  tree  of  death. 


BT  EEV.  R.  HOYT. 


In  a  yalley  that  I  know  — 

Happy  scene! 

There  are  meadows  sloping  low, 
There  the  fairest  flowers  blow, 
And  the  brightest  waters  flow, 

All  serene; 

But  the  sweetest  thing  to  see, 
If  you  ask  the  dripping  tree, 
Or  the  harvest-hoping  swain, 

Is  the  Rain! 

Ah,  the  dwellers  of  the  town, 
How  they  sigh, 


126  THE    SILVER    CUP 

How  ungratefully  they  frown, 

And  when  the  cloud-king  shakes  his  crown, 

And  the  pearls  come  pouring  down 

From  the  sky! 
They  descry  no  charm  at  all 
Where  the  sparkling  jewels  fall, 
And  each  moment  of  the  shower, 

Seems  an  hour! 

Yet  there's  something  very  sweet 

In  the  sight, 

When  the  crystal  currents  meet 
In  the  dry  and  dusty  street, 
And  they  wrestle  with  the  heat 

In  their  might! 

While  they  seem  to  hold  a  talk 
With  the  stones  along  the  walk 
And  remind  them  of  the  rule, 

To  "keep  cool!" 

But  in  that  quiet  dell, 

Ever  fair, 

Still  the  Lord  doth  all  things  well, 
When  his  clouds  with  blessings  swefl 
And  they  break  a  brimming  shell 

On  the  air; 

There  the  shower  hath  its  charm* 
Sweet  welcome  to  the  farms, 
As  they  listen  to  its  voice, 

And  rejoice! 


SPARKLING    DROPS.  127 


$mtin 


So  sang  our  gifted  American  songstress,  in 
the  name  of  the  thrush  ;  and  so  let  the  voice 
of  all  human  beings  respond,  in  their  own 
behalf.  Not  solely  in  the  music  produced 
by  keys,  and  strings,  and  curious  mechanism  ; 
not  even  in  the  sweet  tones  of  that  higher 
instrument,  the  human  voice !  for  mere 
sounds,  however  melodious  they  may  be, 
can  never  discharge  the  solid  indebtedness 
iv^hich  most  of  us  are  under  as  tenants  of 
society. 

Are  you  a  suffering  invalid,  requiring 
much  care  and  unpleasant  services  from  those 
around  you  ?  "  Pay  your  rent  in  w  the  "  mu- 
sic" of  a  patient,  cheerful  spirit,  a  placid 
countenance,  self-control  from  immoderate, 
exhibitions  of  distress  under  acute  suffering, 
and  endeavor  to  avoid  giving  trouble,  and  as 
far  as  you  are  capable,  an  agreeable  deport- 
anent  and  entertaining  society.  Of  many  has 


128  THE    SILYEE    CUP' 

it  been  said,  while  they  were  subjects  of 
long-continued  sickness,  that  it  was  a  pleasure- 
to  attend  upon  them,  so  patient,  so  grateful, 
so  agreeable,  were  they.  "  Pay  your  rent  in 
music,"  while  you  occupy  the  sick  chamber, 
and  you  greatly  lighten  the  task  of  others,., 
as  well  as  your  burden,  and  secure  to  your- 
self ready  and  abundant  services. 

Are  you  aged,  infirm,  decrepit,  helpless  t 
u  Pay  your  rent  in  "  the  same  "  music  "  which 
enlivens  the  sick-room,  and  in  that  of  gar- 
nered-up  experience  and  wisdom,  of  those 
stories  of  "  old  times  "  which  the  young  love- 
so  well  to  hear ;  the  instructive  or  remark- 
able incidents  which  have  stamped  a  long 
life,  and  in  an  endeavor  to  yield  somewhat  to 
changing  times,  and  so  avoid  those  disa- 
greeable failings  sometimes  attendant  upon 
age ;  these,  when  kindly  and  cheerfully  put 
forth  by  the  aged,  are  music  of  the  heart  to* 
those  that  attend  upon  them,  and  tend  to 
encircle  them  with  an  atmosphere  of  har- 
mony. (Yet  were  I  here  speaking  to  the 
young,  I  would  say,  respect  and  defer  to> 
the  fixed  habits  of  the  aged,  and  remembeor 


OF    SPARKLING    DROPS.  129 

that  it  is  emphatically  your  duty  to  yield  in 
your  intercourse  with  seniors,  as  well  as 
superiors.) 

You  are  a  busy  toiling  mother  and  mis- 
tress of  a  family.  Create  music  in  your 
habitation,  by  a  contented  spirit  — patience 
you  can  not  do  without  —  a  genial  kindness 
of  manner,  and  benevolent  care  for  all  who 
are  dependent  upon  you ;  sympathy  in  the 
little  troubles  and  pleasures  of  children,  and 
readiness  to  further  the  happiness  of  all 
within  your  influence.  So  shall  you  have 
overpaid  your  rent,  in  music  of  the  choicest 
kind,  and  have  tuned  the  strings  of  all  the 
hearts  whose  beatings  you  command. 

Are  you  a  daughter  ?  You  can  "  pay  rent 
in  music"  which  shall  cause  a  father's  and 
mother's  heart  to  sing  for  joy.  The  docile, 
confiding,  grateful  spirit,  the  sprightliness 
and  elasticity,  and  grace  of  youth,  joined 
with  the  gentleness  and  delicacy  which  are 
woman's  glory,  the  assiduity  to  lighten  the 
toils,  as  well  as  sweeten  the  cares  of  life, 
for  those  who  toil  and  care  for  you,  all  of 
which  a  daughter,  worthy  of  the  name,  will 


130  THE    SILVER    CUP 

exemplify  in  herself — these  will  see  and 
keep  in  tune  a  harp  of  a  thousand  strings. 

You  are  a  sister,  too  ;  and  the  strain  of 
music  which  you  awaken,  will  be  caught  by 
a  brother,  and  will  constitute  a.charm,  attach- 
ing him  to  home  —  a  young  man's  safest 
refuge  from  the  world's  enticements.  Do  you 
owe  nothing  to  him  ? 

And  the  son  and  brother  —  in  the  vigor 
and  activity  of  youth,  and  yet  with  manliness 
of  purpose,  and  uprightness  of  principle,  how 
may  he  give  out  and  evolve  the  richest  tones 
of  the  heart,  and  fill  the  domestic  circle  with 
the  noblest  strains  ?  He  is  the  respectful  yet 
unrestrained  companion  of  his  father,  the 
sympathizing  counselor  and  ready  aid  of  his 
mother,  the  confidential  and  strong  arm  of 
his  sister,  the  common  ally,  the  playmate, 
and  the  protector  of  all  the  younger  mem- 
bers of  the  domestic  flock. 

Then  the  children  —  surely,  they  "  pay 
their  rent  in  music."  Aye,  they  pay  it  in 
noise,  most  certainly  ;  and  if  it  be  not  in  real 
music,  it  is,  or  has  been,  the  parent's  fault. 
Full  of  life  and  glee  they  are  ;  hopeful  and 


OF    SPARKLING    DROPS.  131 

lielpral,  if  they  are  not  perverted  ;  and  with 
smusic  in  their  hearts,  music  in  their  faces, 
-music  on  their  lips,  and  music  in  all  their 
motions,  they  pay  their  rent,  and  make  the 
iiouse  better,  for  having  been  its  inmates. 

Does  the  father  and  husband  owe  no  rent  ? 
and  can  he  make  no  music  in  payment  ?  Ah  ! 
sad  and  marred  will  be  the  harmony  in  that 
household  where  its  chief  member  awakes 
&o  strain,  or  touches  only  jarring  notes. 
And  what  thrilling  vibrations  of  tender,  joy- 
ous music  can  he  send  through  eveiy  fibre 
of  that  heart  which  has  given  itself  to  his 
keeping,  by  a  well-timed  manifestation  of 
forbearance,  by  affection  and  caresses.  Where 
firm,  abiding  love  exists  between  man  and 
wife,  and  manifests  itself  by  those  little  acts 
of  love  and  kindness  towards  each  other 
which  so  become  the  heads  of  a  family,  there 
will  always  be  found  a  peaceful  and  happy 
household. 


182  TBTE    SILVER    CUV 


BY    M.    A.    BROWNE. 

There  is  a  love  so  fond,  so  true, 

No  art  the  magic  tie  can  sever; 
'  T  is  ever  beauteous,  ever  new ;  — 

Its  chain  once  linked  is  linked  for  even- 
There  is  a  love,  but  passion's  beam,— 

Too  fond,  too  warm,  too  bright,  to  last,- 
The  phrenzy  of  a  fevered  dream, 

That  burns  a  moment,  then  is  past, 

'Tis  like  the  lightning's  lurid  glare, 
.That  streams  its  blaze  of  fatal  ligluv 

Flames  for  an  instant  through  the  airf 
Then  sinks  away  in  deepest  night. 

There  is  a  love  whose  feeling  rolls 
In  pure,  unruffled  calmness  on, — 

The  meeting  of  congenial  souls, 

Of  hearts  whose  currents  flow  iii  one. 

It  is  a  blessing  that  is  felt 

But  by  united  minds  that  flow, 

As  sunbeams  into  sunbeams  melt, 
To  light  a  frozen  world  below. 


OF    SPARKLING    DROPS.  133 

There  is  a  love  that  o'er  the  war 
Of  jarring  passions  pours  its  light, 

And  sheds  its  influence  like  a  star 
That  brightest  burns  in  darkest  night. 

It  is  a  love  best  known  to  those 

Who,"  hand  in  hand,  amidst  the  strife, 

Together  have  withstood  their  foes, 
Together  shared  the  storms  of  life. 

It  is  so  true,  so  fixed,  so  strong, 

It  parts  not  with  the  parting  breath; 

In  the  soul's  flight  'tis  borne  along, 

And  holds  the  heart-strings  e'en  in  death. 

'Tis  never  quenched  by  sorrow's  tide;  — 
No,  'tis  a  flame  caught  from  above, — 

A  tie  that  death  can  not  divide;  — 
'  T  is  the  bright  torch  of  wedded  love. 

But  there  is  one  love,  not  of  earth, 
Though  sullied  by  the  streaming  tear, 

It  is  a  star  of  heavenly  birth, 
And  only  shines  unshaken  there. 

'Tis  when  this  clay  resigns  its  breath, 
And  the  soul  quits  its  frail  abode, 
That,  rising  from  the  bed  of  death, 
This  love  is  pure  —  the  Love  of  God! 


134  THE    SILVER    CUP 


lament. 


O,  thin,  do  n't  shut  the  door  awhile,  won't 
some  of  ye  listen  to  me,  for  't  is  a  sorrowful 
story  I  Ve  to  tell  !  The  shining  beams  of 
the  blessed  heaven  on  yer  head,  my  lady  ! 
and  let  me  spake  a  minite,  while  the  hunger 
leaves  me  strength.  Och  !  little  I  thought 
I  'd  ever  be  driven  from  the  stranger's 

o 

thrashal.  For  I  was  n't  always  houseless  and 
friendless.  It  was  n't  long  since  I  was  "happy 
an'  continted  in  my  father's  house  in  the 
mountains  bey  ant,  but  wirra  true  't  is  impty 
an'  desolate  now.  The  fire  has  gone  out  on 
our  hearth  stone,  an'  my  hand  will  never  be 
strong  enough  to  kindle  it  agin.  Many  a 
night  I  sat  by  it,  listening  to  ould  stories,  or 
hearing  my  mother  sing  ;  and  the  red  light 
dancing  up  and  down  her  face,  an'  her  voice 
rising  an'  falling  so  beautiful,  till  in  spite  o' 
me,  my  eyes  filled  up  wid  tears.  That  was 
the  pleasant  crying  ;  but  many  is  the  bitter 
one  from  'em  since. 


OF    SPARKLING    DROPS. 

The  blight  of  the  hard  year  fell  on  our 
crops,  my  lady,  an'  thin  come  starvation 
where  full  an'  plenty  were  afore.  A  woe- 
some change  come  over  us  all ;  every  thing 
was  sold  to  gather  the  rint ;  even  my  own 
little  goldfinch  ;  sure  't  is  n't  that  I  grudged 
it.  Mother  did  n't  sing  thin,  and  when  she 
tried  to  spake  joyful,  to  cheer  my  father  up, 
there  was  a  shake  in  her  voice,  and  her  lip 
trembled  ;  and  they  both  had  a  frightened 
look  ;  no  wonder,  wid  famine  staring  'em  in 
the  face.  For  we'd  be  a  whole  day,  an' 
more,  maybe,  widout  tasting  food,  an'  couldn't 
get  it  any  how  ;  an'  I  'd  go  to  bed  sick  an' 
fainting  like  ;  but  I  did  n't  mind  myself  at 
all,  only  my  little  sister  Norah.  In  all  the 
country  round  there  was  n't  a  prittier  child, 
wid  her  cheeks  of  pink  and  snow,  an'  her 
white  forehead,  wid  the  yellow  hair  on  it, 
like  goold  rings,  only  a  softer  dale ;  an' 
shining  eyes,  the  color  of  the  sky  in  June. 

O,  dear  !  the  hunger  bore  heavy  on  the 
innocent  child,  an'  rubbed  out  all  the  dimples 
in  her  face,  and  faded  the  red  blush  an7 
her  eyes  sunk  back  in  her  head,  as  if  all 


136  THE    SILVER 

the  tears  she  cried  put  out  the  light  in  'em 
An'  oh,  lady !  it  would  have  gone  to  youi 
heart  to  see  her  hold  out  her  long,  thin  hand, 
an'  hear  her  young,  small  voice,  that  used  to 
be  laughing  all  day,  axing  for  bread,  an'  none 
to  the  fore.  Thin  mother,  'uld  soothe  her  to 
sleep,  an'  her  face  working  all  the  time.  The 
sob  would  be  on  Norah's  heart,  an'  she  asleep. 
But  one  night,  after  being  stupid-like  a  long 
while,  she  roused  up  to  say, 4 1  'ni  very  hun- 
gry ;'  an'  before  the  words  were  out  of  her 
mouth,  she  stretched  herself  out  on  mother's 
lap  and  died.  Well,  I  tuk  on  greatly  at 
that ;  but  mother  said  God  had  taken  her 
from  the  misery,  an'  she  woul'n't  be  hungry 
agin,  for  the  angels  in  heaven  were  feeding 
her.  Thin  I  thought,  only  for  mother,  I  'd 
like  to  go  too.  Father  berrid  her  widout  a 
coffin. 

She  was  the  first  I  iver  saw  die ;  but 
't  was  n't  to  be  long  a  strange  thing  to  me. 
My  father  got  work  at  last,  but  the  power  to 
do  it  was  going  fast.  An'  mother  'ud  keep  the 
last  bite  an'  sup  in  the  house  for  him,  when 
he'd  come  in,  and  make  him  believe  that 


OF    SPARKLING    DKOP8.  137 

she  ate  afore,  and  pretind  she  was  giving 
him  her  lavings,  an'  laugh  and  joke  wid  him. 
Och  !  but  her  laugh  had  a  quare  sound  thin, 
just  like  the  crushing  of  her  heart ;  it  'ud 
make  my  flesh  creep  :  but  you  wor  always 
minding  everybody,  barring  yourself,  mother 
deal* !  I  heerd  'em  say  no  one  could  dhrive 
a  spade  deeper  nor  my  father  once,  but 
Imnger  is  stranger  nor  the  strong  mem  ;  when 
that  is  tugging  at  the  inside,  thin  the  arm  is 
very  wake.  He  fainted  over  his  spade,  an' 
was  soon  lying  down  in  the  fever.  We  wor 
out  of  the  doctor's  way,  an'  the  priest  was 
always  out,  an'  a  weight  of  sickness  on  my 
father,  an'  nothing  to  quinch  the  thirst  that 
was  perishing  him,  barring  a  can  of  cold 
wather  from  the  strame  afore  the  door. 

Day  an'  night  mother  sat  beside  the  whisp 
of  straw  that  kept  him  from  the  floor.  O  ! 
but  his  face  was  hot  and  red,  his  two  eyes 
like  lightling  coals,  an'  a  puff  of  his  breath 
'ud  burn  ye,  an'  he  saying  such  out  o'-the- 
way  things  in  his  wandherings.  Well,  we 
thought  he  was  getting  cool ;  but  sure 
enough,  't  was  Death's  own  cold  fingers  upon 


138  THE    SILVER    CUP 

Mm.  For  lie  got  quite  sensible,  and  said  to 
mother,  'Norah,  acushla  ma  cliree,  put  yer 
hand  under  my  liead  an'  raise  me  ;'  an1  thin 
lie  died  off  quite  aisy,  just  as  the  day  dawns  ; 
an'  the  spirit  died  in  me  too,  but  I  could  n't 
lielp  staring  at  mother.  As  soon  as  she  had 
stroked  the  body,  she  sated  herself  forninst 
it,  and  hardly  stirred  for  two  days  maybe. 
I  thought  all  her  tears  were  used  up  ;  for  her 
eyes  wor  dry  as  dust.  Them  were  the  sorrow- 
ful days. 

There  was  food  in  the  house  thin,  but  we 
could  n't  taste  it ;  't  is  very  aisy  to  give  the 
body  enough  when  the  heart  is  full.  On  the 
third  day  she  wrapped  him  in  her  ould  clook 
and  called  me  to  help  her  ;  so  we  carried 
him  to  the  grave  ourselves,  without  shroud 
or  coffin,  for  the  neighbors  were  too  hard  put 
to  it  to  keep  themselves  alive,  to  mind  us  or 
our  dead.  Sure  't  was  the  great  God  gave 
strength  to  mother  that  day,  for  nothing  was 
too  hard  for  her.  We  scraped  out  the  earth 
and  berrid  him.  Mother  did  n't  spake  all 
the  time,  only  shivered,  and  put  her  face 
atune  her  hands  and  thin  she  got  up  quite 


OF    SPARKLING    DROPS.  139 

stout,  and  walked  home  so  fast  that  I  could 
scarcely  keep  up  wid  her.  No  sooner  wor 
we  in  than  she  fainted  away  ;  an'  whin  she 
come  to,  4  Thank  God  he's  berrid  !'  says  she  ; 
'  whin  I  'm  gone,  mavourneen,  if  ye  wor  to  go 
on  your  bended  knees  to  the  neighbors,  make 
'em  put  me  down  beside  him.  That  won't 
be  long,'  ses  she,  '  for  I  hear  him  calling  me.' 
I  thought  maybe  she  was  tired,  an'  enthraited 
her  to  ate,  but  she  would  n't.  Thin  she  put 
her  arms  round  me,  an'  drew  me  to  her,  and 
called  me  her  fair-haired  son,  her  fatherless 
boy,  and  said  the  orphan's  God  would  pur- 
tect  me.  I  forgot  the  pulse  of  her  heart 
stopped  whin  father  laid  low,  and  whin  she 
said,  '  Go  to  sleep,  darlint,  for  ye  need  it 
sore.'  I  slept  in  her  bosom,  for  I  was  rale 
tired.  When  I  woke,  my  forehead  was  agin 
something  cold.  Och  !  't  was  mother's  neck, 
an'  the  hand  I  held  was  stiff.  She  was  dead  ! 
A  hard  sorrow  was  rasping  her  heart,  an'  it 
fluttered  like  a  bird  in  a  light  grip,  and  at 
last  it  got  away.  Thin  I  was  alone.  Thin 
come  the  grief  and  the  heart  th rouble  in 
tirely.  Though  I  could  hardly  crawl,  I  got 


140  THE    SILVER    CUP 

to  the  next  house,  and  brought  'em  to  see  if 
she  was  dead  all  out,  for,  though  't  was  plain 
enough,  I  would  n't  believe  she  was  gone  in 
airnest,  an'  thought  it  might  be  weakness,  an' 
she  'd  get  the  better  of  it.  But  whin  all 
failed,  thin,  by  a  dale  of  coaxing,  I  got  a  man 
to  put  her  beside  my  father.  I  think  she 
would  n't  rest  aisy  any  where  else  ;  an'  when 
she  rises  from  the  grave  she  '11  see  I  kept  her 
word.  Och  !  lady,  did  n't  I  feel  bitterly  whin 
she  was  covered  up  from  me,  an'  I  lost  the 
hand  that  used  to  stroke  down  my  hair,  an' 
the  loving  words,  an'  the  sweet  smile?  I 
always  stay  beside  the  grave,  except  whin 
hunger,  that  has  no  nature  in  it,  drives  me 
away. 

Those  fine  bright  days  do  n't  agree  wid  me 
at  all.  Once  I  used  to  like  to  see  the  sun 
dazzling,  and  the  strames  looking  up  so  good 
naturedly  at  him  ;  but  now  everything  seems 
swimming  before  my  eyes,  full  of  blinding 
tears,  an'  the  sky  seems  laughing  at  me,  an' 
the  little  birds  in  'em  seem  to  be  making 
game  of  my  grief.  But,  sure,  they  have  no 
feeling  that  way,  the  crathurs  !  An'  the  only 


OF    SPARKLING    DROPS.          141 

thing  that  gave  me  any  comfort,  was  this 
morning,  when  I  saw  a  little  flower  in  the 
grass,  wid  the  dew  on  it.  I  do  n't  know  why, 
but  it  seemed  sorry  for  me  ;  it  looked  like  a 
blue  eye  full  of  tears.  No  one  else  spoke 
kindly  to  me  since  my  mother  died,  but  it ; 
for,  did  n't  it  spake  ?  Yes,  it  told  me  the 
great  God  made  it,  an'  sent  it  there  to  com- 
fort me ;  an'  to  say  He  'd  mind  me,  the  lest 
on  the  stem.  So  I  thanked  Him  on  my 
knees,  although  I  do  n't  know  much  about 
Him  at  all.  I  wish  I  did. 

Thin,  whin  I  looked  up,  I  thought  of  No 
•ah,  an'  how  happy  she  was  ;  looking  down 
inaybe,  wid  her  face  covered  over  wid  sun- 
ihine  ;  and  I  felt  a  sort  of  gladness  ;  but 
tfhin  I  remimbered  my  father  an'  mother, 
".he  pain  shot  through  me  agin.  For  they  say 
;hey  're  in  purgaihory,  and  must  stay  there 
dong  time,  for  dying  widout  the  clergy. 
Chat 's  what  kills  me  infcirely ;  to  think  of 
ny  poor  father,  that  nivir  said  an  ill  word  to 
ne,  and  my  own  gentle-tempered,  sofb-natured 
nother,  that  would  sooner  lift  a  worm  than 
thread  on  it,  to  be  in  such  burning  pain  ? 


142  THE    SILVER    CUP 

my  head  burns  when  I  think  of  it.  I'd 
rather  live  any  way,  for  I  could  n't  bare  to 
be  .there  looking  at  mother's  suffering;  an' I 
know  I  would  n't  go  to  heaven,  because  I  'm 
not  innocent,  like  Norah.  If  I'd  only 
strength,  I'd  wear  my  knees  out,  praying 
round  the  '  stations,'  to  get  'em  out ;  but  that 
will  niver  be,  for  my  heart-strings  wor  tied 
round  my  mother,  an'  they  're  pulling  me 
into  the  grave,  for  death  could  n't  loose  'em. 
I  was  a  child  afore  all  the  woe  happened 
to  me.  I  do  n't  feel  like  a  child  now,  though 
it  is  not  many  months  since,  for,  oh  !  lady, 
my  heart  is  grown  ould.  I  did  n't  break  my 
fast  since  yesterday  ;  but  whin  I  try  to  ax 
fer  something,  the  blood  comes  into  my  face, 
and  my  tongue  won't  spake  for  me.  An' 
whin  I  do  tell  my  story,  't  is  too  common  a 
one  to  be  minded,  an'  they  wo'nt  belave  I  'm 
telling  the  truth  ;  for  they  do  n't  know  how 
heavy  my  heart  is,  or  the  squeezing  in  my 
heart.  People  ar  n't  pitiful  at  all  now  ;  noth- 
ing shuts  up  the  heart  like  famine  ;  it  has 
cruel  and  wonderful  power,  for  it  puts 
mother  out  of  my  head.  Some  times  I  'm 


OF    SPAEKLIKG    DROPS. 

afraid  1  'm  too  weak  to  get  back  to  the  grave. 
I  would  n't  lave  it  at  all,  only  for  fear  of  the 
purgathory. 

Lady,  your  speech  is  gintle,  and  your  eyes 
are  full,  like  the  flower  in  the  grass.  Ye  say 
ye  will  shelter  an'  feed  me.  O,  if  ye  could 
give  me  back  my  darling  mother !  and  ye 
say  she  is  n't  in  purgathory  ;  but,  maybe, 
God's  good  Son  took  her  to  Himself.  Bless- 
ings on  yer  fair  head,  my  lady,  't  is  kindly 
meant.  O,  if  I  could  belave  that  I  An'  ye 
say  I  may  go  straight  there,  too  ?  It  would 
raise  my  head  to  think  so.  If  ye  '11  only 
teach  me  now,  I  '11  live  to  sarve  ye.  I  '11  go 
•to  the  world's  end  to  do  yer  bidding.  I  '11 
die  to  sarve  ye ;  yes,  twice  over,  for  yer 
sake. 


aq 


BY  H.  \7.  LONGFELLOW. 


The  day  is  cold,  and  dark,  and  dreary; 
It  rains,  and  the  winds  are  never  weary; 
The  vine  still  clings  to  the  moldering  wall, 


144  THE    SILVER    CUP 

But  at  every  gust  the  dead  leaves  fall, 
And  the  day  is  dark  and  dreary. 

My  life  is  cold,  and  dark,  and  dreary; 
It  rains,  and  the  winds  are  never  weary; 
My  thoughts  still  cling  to  the  moldering  past. 
But  the  hopes  of  youth  fall  thick  in  the  blast, 
And  the  days  are  dark  and  dreary. 

Be  still,  sad  heart,  and  cease  repining; 
Behind  the  cloud  is  the  sun  still  shining; 
Thy  fate  is  the  common  fate  of  all; 
Into  each  life  some  rain  must  fall, 

Some  days  must  be  dark  and  dreary. 


iennl. 


BY  J,  CLEMENT. 

Radiant  little  household  treasure, 

Magnet  of  the  ingle  side! 
Not  a  star  in  night's  broad  cluster 
Shines  with  softer,  purer  lustre, 

Fondest  parents'  hope  and  pride! 

Words,  though  passion-lit,  and  burning, 
Might  not  breathe  the  joy  they  feel, 


OF    SPARKLING    DROPS.  145 

That  their  lives,  in  one  united, 
By  thy  smiles  are  daily  lighted, 

Love  connubial's  golden  seal-!  x 

Pure  as  in  thy  primal  setting 

In  thy  parents'  love  enshrined, 
Be  thou  long  their  spotless  treasure, 
Source  of  hope  and  sacred  pleasure, 

Pearl  of  truth,  by  grace  refined. 

Then  shall  He,  the  great  Refiner, 

When,  ere  long,  his  eye  shall  roam 
Through  the  earth  for  "jewels,"  beaming 
'Fresh  in  light  from  glory  streaming, 
Snatch  thee  to  his  bosom  home. 


n 


BY    MRS.   CASK. 

ONWARD!  hath  earth's  ceaseless  change 

Trampled  on  thy  heart? 
Faint  not,  for  that  restless  range 

Soon  will  heal  the  smart. 
Trust  the  future  —  time  will  prov« 
Earth  hath  stronger,  truer  love. 
7 


146  THE    SILVER    CUP 

Bless  thy  God,  the  heart  is  not 

An  abandoned  urn, 
Where,  all  lonely  and  forgot, 

Dust  and  ashes  mourn  ; 
Bless  Him,  that  his  mercy  brings 
Joy  from  out  its  withered  things. 

Onward,  for  the  truths  of  God! 

Onward,  for  the  right! 
Firmly  let  the  field  be  trod, 

In  life's  coming  fight: 
Heaven's  own  hand  will  lead  thee  on, 
Guard  thee  till  thy  task  is  done! 


t 


HORACE  STANHOPE  bore  his  young  bride  to 
Ms  own  splendid  home,  and  lie  gratified  her 
warm  heart  by  making  her  mother  a  sharer 
of  that  home  ;  the  mother  and  child  dwelt 
together.  CONSTANCE  was  much  sought 
after  in  society,  but  her  husband  found  her 
ever  ready  to  sacrifice  gayety  abroad,  to  a 
quiet  evening  with  Mm.  His  heart  was 


OF    SPARKLING    DKOPS.  147 

touched  by  her  true  and  entire  devotion,  his 
leisure  hours  were  passed  at  home,  he  rarely 
went  into  society  except  with  her.  In  very 
truth,  Stanhope  feared  to  trust  himself,  he 
knew  the  power  of  old  liabits,  old  associations] 
the  boundry  once  passed,  perchance  he  could 
not,  if  he  would,  return.  And  Constance 
was  happy  —  aye !  upon  that  sunny  brow 
there  never  hovered  a  cloud.  The  dark  and 
tender  eyes  were  never  dimmed  by  a  tear, 
save  when  the  heart-,  too  full  of  happiness, 
could  not  find  vent  in  words ;  and  around 
the  dimpled  mouth,  there  were  ever-playing 
smiles,  and  a  spirit  of  entire  content. 

Time  rolled  on,  —  one  year,  and  yet  an- 
other. Constance  was  a  mother,  and  Horace 
Stanhope  loved  the  boy,  and  his  wife  ;  yet, 
there  were  days  when  he  was  not  there — * 
long  nights  when  he  came  not !  The  charm 
of  novelty  was  over  ;  he  had  gratified  self  all 
the  days  of  his  life,  old  feelings  came  back 
again,  old  habits  were  resuming  their  sway. 

One  morning  he  came  down  late  to  break- 
fast. Constance  and  her  mother  had  waited 
long  ;  he  looked  pale  and  harassed. 


148  THE    SILVER    CtTl> 

"Are  you  ill?"  said  Constance,  and  her 
tones  were  sad  and  low  —  "  are  you  ill,  my 
husband  ?"  Stanhope  looked  up  — 

"  Should  I  not  ask  you  that  question  ?"  he 
said,  earnestly  —  "  you  look  far  from  well, 
Constance?"  She  made  no  reply,  and  Mrs. 
ELLERTON,  her  mother  said  : 

"  I  fear  she  is  ill ;  for  many  days  she  has 
looked  thus.  Do  n't  you  think  a  journey  to 
the  country  would  do  you  both  good  ?  Con- 
stance is  not  used  to  the  confinement  of  the 
city  in  warm  weather.  He  native  air  would 
recruit  her."  Constance  looked  anxiously 
upon  her  husband  while  her  mother  spoke, 
but  her  heart  sunk  when  there  was  no  reply. 
It  so  happened  that  the  arrangement  inter- 
fered with  some  plans  of  his  own,  laid  the 
night  before.  He  expressed  the  utmost  wil- 
lingness that  Constance  should  go,  but  re- 
gretted his  own  utter  inability  to  accompany 
her.  Mrs.  Ellerton  sighed  heavily,  as  she 
rose  up  and  left  the  room.  There  was  an 
awkward  silence  ;  Stanhope  walked  to  the 
window,  and  looked  out,  apparently  much 
engaged  with  what  met  his  eye.  A  soft  - 


OF    SPAEKLI'NG    DROPS.  149 

hand  was  laid  upon  his  arm,  and  gently 
Constance  said: 

"  Unless  my  husband  is  anxious  I  should 
leave  him,  I  will  not  go  this  journey  without 
him." 

"  Anxious  !  what  could  have  put  such  a 
thought  into  your  head,  my  Constance  ?"  and 
he  kissed  the  pale  cheek  beside  him,  but  as 
he  did  so,  his  conscience  smote  him,  for  that 
cheek  was  cold  and  colorless ;  yet  he  made 
no  offer  to  accompany  her,  nor  did  he  again 
allude  to  the  journey. 

A  few  weeks  after  this,  Stanhope  returned 
unexpectedly  from  the  country,  where  he 
had  been  for  several  days.  It  was  a  quiet 
summer  afternoon,  not  so  warm  as  it  had 
been,  and  Constance  had  gone  out  to  ride. 
Not  knowing  this,  Stanhope  sought  her  in 
the  room  she  usually  occupied.  It  was  in  a 
retired  part  of  the  house,  and  looked  out 
upon  a  fairy  spot,  that  Constance  loved  for 
the  sake  of  the  flowers,  so  filled  with  remem- 
brances of  her  childhood !  She  was  not 
there,  but  her  mother  was  ;  and  over  that 
mother's  face  tears  had  been  pouring  fast  and 


150  THE    SILVER    CUP 

warm.  There  was  no  time  for  concealment. 
Stanhope  was  in  the  room,  ere  she  heard  his 
step  ;  he  looked  uneasy. 

"  Has  any  thing  occurred  to  distress  you, 
Mrs.  Ellerton  ?  Can  I  be  of  any  service  ?" 
he  said. 

"  It  is  better,  perhaps,  that  you  have  thus 
surprised  me,"  she  replied  —  "  otherwise,  I 
might  never  have  gained  courage  to  mention 
that  which  is  wearing  away  my  heart.  Oh  ! 
Horace,  it  is  of  Constance  I  would  speak  !" 

"  Of  Constance  !"  —  and  the  dark  eye- 
brows almost  met,  for  the  frown  that 
gathered  over  his  forehead  was  heavy  and 
haughty,  and  when  he  spoke,  it  was  in  the 
resolved  and  stern  tone  of  one  whose  deter- 
mination was  taken  —  "  It  is  well  —  say  on  F 

"  Not  thus,  I  entreat  you  !  Do  not  hear 
me  thus.  It  is  for  my  child !"  and  the 
mother  covered  her  face,  while  tears  forced 
their  way  through  the  long  thin  fingers  ; 
but  the  hour  of  self-abandonment  was  brief: 

"  You  once  promised  me,  in  time  long  past 
Horace,  to  be  to  me  in  all  things  a  son. 
Nobly  have  you  redeemed  that  promise  — 


OF    SPARKLING    DROPS.  151 

but  you  made  wnotlier,  holier  by  far,  —  ten- 
derly to  cherish  her  who  has  garnered  all 
her  hopes  of  earthly  happiness  in  the  con- 
tinuance of  her  love.  Have  you  been  faith- 
ful to  that  solemn  promise  ?  Is  the  wife  like 
unto  the  bride  ?  the  color  is  gone  from  her 
cheek  ;  her  eye  is  heavy  and  sad  ;  she  rarely 
smiles  ;  it  is  months  since  I  have  heard  the 
glad  laugh,  that  was  music  to  my  soul. 
Turn  to  her  you  have  forsaken,  Horace,  for- 
saken for  the  wine  cup,  and  the  reveler's 
club  !  Turn  to  her,  or  she  will  go  down  in 
her  youth  and  beauty  to  the  grave." 

She  was  silent,  but  her  heart  grew  cold 
and  dead  within  her.  Upon  the  rigid  and 
stern  countenance  before  her,  she  could  trace 
no  ray  of  hope,  no  shadow  of  relenting. 
Slowly  and  deliberately,  he  said  : 

"  You  knew  my  character,  my  habits ; 
knowing  these,  why  did  you  give  me  your 
child?"  The  sharp  cry,  wrung  from  the 
sore  heart  of  the  mother,  told  more  than 
words.  Relentlessly  he  went  on  :  —  "I  will 
tell  you  wliy  —  you  sacrificed  your  daughter 
to  your  own  ambition.  Now,  teach  her  to 


15,2  THE    SILVER    CUP 

bear  with  a  lot,  neither  you,  nor  she,  can 
alter.  Such  as  I  am,  you  have  taken  me  for 
a  son  ;  and  it  would  be  wise,  Mrs.  Ellerton, 
to  make  the  best  of  what  you  cannot  amend. 
Hundreds  of  women,  situated  like  Constance*,, 
console  themselves  for  neglect  in  the  glitter- 
ing round  of  worldly  pleasure  —  teach  her 
to  do  the  same ;"  and  without  further  word 
or  look,  he  passed  from  the  room. 

Mrs.  Ellerton  did  not  stir,  she  sat  quite 
still,  as  one  deprived  of  sense  or  motion. 
Not  a  single  tear  escaped  from  the  burning 
lid,  over  that  cheek  so  white  with  agony. 
The  lips  were  closed,  save  when  they  parted 
with  a  sad,  strange  sound  that  came  hollow 
and  gaspingly  from  her  bosom.  At  length 
her  full  heart  found  vent  in  words : 

"  He  was  right  —  yes  !  it  was  my  work.  I 
gave  thee  to  him,  my  bright  one  —  to  him, 
so  little  worthy,  so  lost  to  himself,  so  false  to 
thee !  False  to  thee !  my  child  !  my  inno- 
cent !"  and  long  and  bitterly  she  wept  the 
tears  of  unavailing  remorse.  As  she  grew 
calm,  and  reviewed  the  past,  she  felt  that 
Horace  had  been  unnecessarily  stern,  and  she 


OF    SPABKLING    DEO  PS.  153 

* 

did  not  doubt  it  was  to  prevent  all  further 
interference  on  her  part.  And  silently  she 
resolved  never  again  to  interfere  ;  she  felt 
that  it  was  not  for  her  to  reproach  Stanhope  ; 
and  in  her  heart  there  was  a  sustaining  hope, 
that  if  his  home  was  ever  a  happy  home,  the 
love  of  Constance  must  win  him  back  —  all 
her  own.  Mrs.  Ellerton  knew  that  men  are 
never  won  from  the  path  of  evil,  by  words 
of  harshness  or  reproach,  and  least  of  all 
would  Horace  Stanhope  be  thus  won.  Her 
determination  was  rare,  as  it  was  excellent, 
to  unite  with  Constance  and  by  acts  of  gen- 
tleness and  affection  win  him  back  to  the 
home  he  was  deserting. 

Late  in  the  afternoon  Constance  returned, 
and  learned  with  surprise  her  husband's 
arrival.  Tea  waited  a  long  time,  Constance 
still  urging : 

"  He  will  soon  come  —  very  soon,  now. 
Do  n't  you  think  he  will,  dear  mother  ?" 
Mrs.  Ellerton  thought  it  doubtful ;  he  might 
be  engaged  elsewhere ;  they  had  better  not 
wait  longer.  And  with  a  long-drawn,  heavy 
sigh,  Constance  acquiesced.  Mrs.  Ellerton 
7* 


154  THE    SILVEll     CUP 

strove  to  enter  into  cheerful  conversation 
with  her  daughter ;  she  had  the  child 
brought  in,  now  a  year  old,  and  its  happy 
face,  and  sunny  smiles,  had  their  wonted 
power  to  beguile  the  young  mother  from  the 
contemplation  of  her  own  sorrows. 

And  now,  one  hour,  and  another,  and  yet 
another,  went  by,  those  long,  heavy  evening 
hours  —  and  yet  he  came  not !  They  retired 
to  rest.  In  her  own  chamber,  the  deserted 
wife  gave  way  to  the  feelings  that  oppressed 
her.  Slowly  and  surely  the  conviction  was 
strengthening  in  her  heart,  that  her  husband 
was  faithless  —  and  this  side  the  grave  there 
is  no  pang  so  bitter  !  She  could  not  sleep  ; 
there  is  no  sleep  for  the  wretched.  She  took 
the  light  in  her  hand,  and  stole  with  a  noise- 
less step  to  the  drawing-room,  to  watch  till 
he  came  !  She  sat  her  down  in  the  arm-chair 
he  loved,  and,  clasping  her  small,  white  hands 
tightly  together,  listened  intently,  as  though 
that  would  hurry  his  footsteps.  Minutes 
were  as  hours  —  oh  !  she  would  have  given 
worlds  to  have  hastened  the  course  of  time. 
There  was  a  weight  upon  her  heart,  dull  and 


OF    SPARKLING    DROPS.  155 

heavy ;  cold,  shivering  fits  would  pass  over 
her,  and  she  would  look  around  her,  as 
though  she  expected  to  see  the  air  peopled 
with  the  terrors  that  filled  her  imagination. 
Slight  sounds  fell  upon  her  ear,  like  the  roll 
of  thunder  afar  off.  In  the  dead  stillness  of 
the  night,  it  was  terrible  !  At  length  the 
key  turned,  there  was  a  step  upon  the  stair: 
way  —  another  moment  and  Stanhope  en- 
tered the  apartment.  She  stood  up,  with  a 
wild,  affrighted  gaze,  and  would  have  fallen, 
if  he  had  not  caught  her  in  his  arms. 

"  Cruel !"  she  exclaimed,  "  cruel,  to  desert 
ine  thus  !  Unkind  !"  —  and  she  wept  such 
tears  as  should  never  fall  upon  the  bosom  of 
a  husband.  He  held  her  closely  to  his  heart, 
he  almost  trembled  to  look  upon  her.  "  Con- 
stance," he  said,  flatteringly,  "why  did  you 
not  go  to  rest  ?"  She  raised  herself  slowly, 
and  with  pain,  and  looking  up  into  his  face, 
she  exclaimed,  passionately  : 

"  My  husband  !  the  lone  watches  of  the 
night  are  terrible  to  the  sleepless."  Teal's 
started  into  the  eyes  of  Stanhope  ;  he  was 


15&  THE    SILVER    CUP 

deeply  moved  ;  fondly  lie  kissed  hei  pale 
cheek. 

"  Be  happy,  Constance  ;  we  will  £  o  to- 
morrow to  the  country ;  and  I  will  remain 
with  you,  dearest,  until  you  are  entirely 
well." 

They  went ;  and  for  two  months  Horace 
Stanhope  devoted  himself  unremittingly  to 
his  wife,  feeling  fully  rewarded  in  the  health 
and  happiness  his  attention  bestowed.  The 
child  was  with  them,  and  Mrs.  Ellerton  saw 
with  delight  the  growing  fondness  the  father 
manifested  for  him.  He  was  a  fair*,  and 
gentle  boy,  of  much  beauty  and  promise, 
and  very  like  his  mother.  The  love  of  the 
father  was  now  fully  awakened  in  the  heart 
of  Stanhope,  and  there  was  no  fairy  vision 
of  the  future  in  which  that  boy  did  not  hold 
the  brightest  place. 

They  returned  to  the  city.  There  had 
been  no  reformation  in  the  character  of  Stan- 
hope ;  his  heart  had  been  moved  by  the  deep 
sorrow  of  Constance ;  and  for  her  sake,  he 
had  turned  aside  awhile.  When  again  ex- 
posed to  temptation  he  yielded  ;  and  this 


OF    SPARKLING    BKOPS.         157 

time  there  was  a  sense  of  wrong  done  to 
Constance,  that  caused  him  to  shrink  from 
her  society.  Coldness  and  alienation  sprang 
up  between  them  ;  the  golden  link  of  confi- 
dence was  severed,  and  there  were  moments 
of  shame  and  remorse,  when  Horace  Stan- 
hope felt,  in  his  inmost  heart,  that  his  own 
hand  had  dealt  the  blow.  He  clung  to  the 
child  with  a  deeper  love,  as  he  became  more 
estranged  from  his  wife  ;  the  pale  counte- 
nance of  the  mother  seemed  to  reproach 
him  ;  the  welcome  of  cheerfulness  had  be- 
cOme  dear  to  him,  and  he  loved  the  sunny 
smiles  of  his  boy.  Yet,  his  own  conduct  had 
destroyed  the  gentle  gayety  of  manner,  once 
so  beautiful  in  the  character  of  Constance. 
She  could  not  smile  when  her  heart  was 
breaking ! 

About  four  months  after  their  return  from 
the  country,  Stanhope  mentioned  his  inten- 
tion of  joining  a  party,  who  were  to  spend 
some  days  in  a  neighboring  city.  It  was  one 
of  which  Constance  very  much  disapproved, 
and  she  urged,  with  more  than  usual  earnest- 
ness, her  desire  that  he  would  remain. 


158  THE    SILVER     CUP 

Stanliope  refused  her  far  more  harshly  than 
was  his  wont,  for  the  simple  reason  that  he 
felt  she  was  right ;  that  it  was  a  party  dis- 
creditable in  every  way  for  him  to  accom- 
pany. That  night,  their  child  was  taken  ill, 
and  deeply  wounded  as  Constance  had  been, 
she  conquered  herself  sufficiently  to  ask  him 
once  more  not  to  leave  her,  when  the  boy 
was  sick.  Stanhope  visited  the  child,  said 
nothing  of  consequence  was  the  matter,  and 
he  should  go  ;  and  when  she  implored  him 
to  remain,  he  replied  in  bitter  anger,  that  she 
made  a  pretext  of  the  child's  illness  to  de- 
tain him,  when  she  knew  in  her  heart  there 
was  not  the  slightest  cause  for  alarm.  Con- 
stance burst  into  tears.  His  eyes  flashed, 
but  he  rose  up  and  left  the  room  without 
further  comment. 

He  started  early  next  morning.  The  child 
grew  rapidly  worse,  its  disease,  the  measles, 
putting  on  the  worst  form.  Many  cases  in 
the  neighborhood  had  proved  fatal,  and  the 
heart  of  Constance  was  full  of  agitating 
fears.  A  few  days  and  there  was  no  hope  ! 
Yet  the  wife  did  not  forget  her  husband  ; 


OF    SPARKLING    DROPS.  159 

She.  sent  an  urgent  message  entreating  his 
immediate  return. 

It  was  night,  and  the  mother  watched  her 
child.  There  was  another  watcher  there, 
who  felt  as  a  mother  unto  both  —  but,  watch- 
ing, and  care,  and  fervent  love,  will  not  save 
from  the  tomb  ;  already  the  finger  of  death 
had  moved  over  the  face  of  the  child,  and 
the  fair  and  delicate  features  had  shrunk  as 
he  touched. 

Strong,  and  pure,  and  steadfast  is  a  moth- 
er's love,  unsullied  by  "  the  trail  of  the  ser- 
pent," which  has  dimmed  all  else.  In  the 
hour  when  his  body  was  racked  with  Buffer- 
ing, his  mind  filled  with  the  mighty  thoughts 
of  a  world's  salvation  —  our  Saviour  remem- 
bered that  love.  Unto  the  disciple  he  loved 
best,  he  said,  "  Son,  behold  thy  mother  !" 
From  that  hoar  to  this,  the  strong  arm  of 
oppression  has  been  lifted  from  the  neck  of 
woman.  The  mild  and  equalizing  doctrines 
of  Christianity,  are  raising  her  to  the  station 
the  Creator  intended  she  should  fill.  The 
same  love  that  filled  the  heart  of  her,  who 
was  "  last  at  the  cross,"  was  full  to  overflowing 


160  THE    SILVER    CUP 

in  the  warm,  and  gentle,  and  generous  nature 
of  Constance  Stanhope. 

Her  boy,  that  in  the  long  hours  of  deser- 
tion, had  hovered  like  an  an^el  of  li^ht  on 

'  O  O 

her  pathway,  that  had  so  often  brought  for- 
getfulness,  that  blessed  boon  to  the  wretched, 
to  her  sad  and  weary  spirit.  Oh  !  could  it 
be  ?  —  her  beautiful !  —  The  large  tears  that 
had  gathered  in  the  eyes  of  Constance,  as 
she  bent  over  him,  rolled  down  her  face,  and 
fell  upon  his  motionless  features.  He  stirred 
—  his  eyes  opened  —  he  knew  her  !  Her 
heart  throbbed  wildly  ;  she  clasped  the  soft, 
little  hand,  gently  between  her  own,  murmur- 
ing, "  My  baby  !  "  There  was  an  expression 
of  distress  upon  the  countenance  of  the 
child,  for  a  single  instant ;  but  it  changed  ; 
calm  it  grew,  and  gentle.  There  was  an  ef- 
fort to  speak  —  it  was  but  a  single  word  — 
"  Mother  !"  and  the  long,  loving  gaze,  fixed 
in  that  expression  that  is  so  fearful.  The 
sight  grew  dim,  and  ere  the  mother  could 
realize  the  truth,  he  slept  the  sleep  that  is 
forever  !  With  a  cry  of  anguish,  almost  of 
despair,  Constance  threw  herself  into  the 


OF    SPARKLING    DROPS.  161 

arms  of  Mrs.  Ellerton  —  "Take  me  away, 
mother !  away  from  this  splendid  home ! 
He  has  deserted  me  —  my  baby  is  dead  ! 
Take  me  away  P  Closely  that  mother 
clasped  her  to  her  bosom ;  but  her  own 
agony  was  voiceless  ;  in  her  heart  there  was 
supplication  to  Him,  who  is  mighty  to  save. 

"  Upon  my  head,  oh  God.!  be  the  punish- 
ment ;  not  upon  hers  !" 

Oh  !  ye  who  would  sacrifice  your  children 
for  the  gold-  that  availeth  not  —  pause  while 
there  is  yet  time.  The  diamond  upon  the 
brow  can  not  bring  peace  to  the  heart ;  and, 
to  the  wretched,  splendor  is  but  a  false,  and 
hollow  mockery.  Mrs,  Ellerton  had  risked 
the  happiness  of  her  child,  to  serve  her  pres- 
ent station,  and  now,  she  would  have  given 
life  itself,  to  have  had  Constance  free  and 
happy,  an  inmate  of  her  old  cottage-home. 

The  morrow  came ;  heavily  the  hours 
wore  on ;  yet  Constance  took  no  note  of 
time.  There  was  but  one  engrossing  thought, 
of  which  she  was  conscious.  Her  baby  was 
dead  !  —  gone  from  her,  who  had  no  hope 
savo  iri  him.  The  first  violence  of  grief  was 


1G2  THE    SILVER    OJ. 

over  ;  and,  as  she  lay  upon  the  sola,  her  eyes 
closed  in  the  heavy  troubled  slumber  of  ex- 
treme exhaustion.  Mrs.  Ellerton,  who  had 
been  watching  by  her  side,  rose  up,  and  with 
a  noiseless  step,  left  the  apartment.  She 
longed  to  look  once  more  upon  the  face  of 
her  grandson.  She  did  not  weep,  when  she 
looked  upon  the. boy,  clothed  in  pure  white, 
fit  emblem  of  the  robe  the  immortal  part 
puts  on  ;  but,  there  was  anguish  on  the  brow, 
suffering  and  sorrow  on  the  saddened  lines 
of  her  countenance.  Hers  was  a  grief,  chas- 
tened by  a  sense  of  her  own  great  error. 
As  she  left  the  room,  she  heard  a  step  upon 
the  stairway  ;  she  turned,  it  was  Stanhope  ; 
and  she  knew  as  she  looked,  he  was  uncon- 
scious of  his  loss.  He  approached  her 
eagerly  — 

"  Is  our  boy  quite  recovered  ?"  he  said. 

"  Did  you  meet  no  messenger  3"  and  she 
spoke  calmly. 

"No,  to  be  sure  not,"  and  he  changed 
color,  though  suspicion  of  the  truth  did  not 
cross  his  mind.  Mrs.  Ellerton  laid  her  hand 
upon  his  arm,  and  he  followed,  as  she 


OF    SPARKLING    DROPS.  163 

returned  to  the  apartment  she  had  just  left. 
They  both  walked  to  the  bedside,  and  Mrs. 
Ellerton  threw  down  the  covering.  It  was 
done  for  good  purpose,  but  the  shock  was 
dreadful. 

"  My  boy  !  My  beautiful !  "  burst  in  tones 
of  deepest  agony  from  the  unhappy  man,  as 
he  wrung  his  hands,  and  walked  to  and  fro, 
in  uncontrollable  agitation. 

"Better  that  it  should  be  so,"  said  Mrs. 
Ellerton,  and  her  tones  rang,  stern  and  clear, 
like  the  voice  of  a  prophetess.  "  Better  that 
he  should  die,  in  the  sinless  time  of  his  child- 
hood, ere  the  polluting  example  of  a  father 
had  sent  him  to  the  grave  in  degradation  and 
shame.  He  died,  when  the  voice  of  that 
father  mingled  in  the  reveler's  shout,  over 
the  red  wine-cup !  But  he  died  before 
knowledge  had  become  a  curse  !" 

"  No  more  —  in  mercy  !"  he  said,  shudder- 
ingly  ;  and  silently,  Mi's.  Ellerton  turned  and 
left  the  room.  In  the  passage  she  met  Con- 
stance, who  had  heard  the  voice  of  Stanhope, 
and  had  come  forth  to  meet  him.  Mrs.  EH 
erton  wound  her  arms  around  her — 


164  THE    SILVER    CUP 

"  Come  back  with  me,  my  cliild  !  you  can 
not  bear  further  agitation." 

"  Let  me  go,  mother !"  said  Constance,  as 
the  tears  rolled  down  her  cheeks.  "  Let  me 
go  —  he  parted  from  me  in  anger,  he  may 
think  he  has  no  claim  to  my  sympathy  — 
and  oh  !  mother,  it  is  terrible  to  bear  sorrow 
alone  !"  And  woman  is  ever  thus  !  —  true 
to  the  last,  and  faithful.  Stanhope  was  sit- 
ting by  the  bed  ;  he  had  bent  down  his  head 
upon  the  pillow,  until  it  touched  the  cold 
face  of  his  child.  He  felt  an  arm  thrown 
over  him,  and  the  low,  faltering  tones  of  his 
wife  fell  on  his  ear :  "  Be  comforted,  my  hus- 
band !"  When  he  rose  up,  and  looked  upon 
the  face  of  Constance  he  shuddered ;  wan, 
and  pale,  and  worn  with  watching  and  sor- 
row, it  looked  like  the  face  of  the  dead  ! 
She  trembled  and  seemed  scarcely  able  to 
stand.  He  lifted  her  in  his  arms,  and  bore 
her  to  a  sofa,  and  then  he  knelt  down  by  hei 
side,  and  asked  forgiveness  for  the  past.  Oh  ! 
how  entire  was  that  forgiveness  !  warm  from 
the  heart  of  Constance,  it  came  with  tears 
and  blessings,  and  words  of  passionate  love  ! 


Oi?    S^AUKLI^TG    DROPS.  165 

And  Stanhope  was  moved  by  a  power  too 
mighty  to  resist ;  lie  laid  his  head  upon  his 
knee,  and  the  strong  man  wept  aloud. 

"  Oh !  love  and  life  are  mysterie^  both  blessing,  and 

both  blest; 

And  yet  how  much  they  teach  the  heart,  of  trial 
and  unrest." 

When  the  morning  come,  Horace  Stan- 
hope was  very  ill.  It  was  an  illness  of  many 
weeks,  and  there  were  long  days  and  nights 
when  he  had  no  hope  of  life.  He  saw  his 
past  conduct  in  its  true  light.  Remorse 
preyed  heavily  upon  him  ;  but  the  low  tones 
of  love  were  ever  breathing  in  his  ear,  and 
the  hand  of  affection  was  ever  ready  to 
smooth  the  pillow  his  own  crimes  had  made 
a  troubled  one.  Oh  !  how  he  blessed  her  — - 
his  own  Constance  !  How  he  prayed,  that 
he  might  live  to  reward  her  true  and  stead- 
fast love  to  one  so  little  worthy  !  Ofttimes 
the  tears  would  fill  his  eyes,  as  he  watched 
her  anxious  efforts  to  relieve  him.  Gently 
and  tenderly  Constance  strove  to  draw  away 
his  thoughts  from  the  past ;  she  could  not 


166  TttE    SILVER    CtTP 

bear  that  lie  should  suffer  for  that  which  had 
caused  her  such  utter  wretchedness. 

It  was  a  quiet  afternoon.  The  invalid  was 
in  the  drawing-room,  still  feeble,  but  evi- 
dently regaining  strength.  He  was  lying 
upon  the  sofa,  when  Constance  entered.  She 
looked  very  beautiful ;  upon  her  fair  cheek 
there  was  a  slight  color,  and  her  dark  eyes 
sparkled  with  the  light  of  returning  happi- 
ness. She  held  in  her  hand  a  blight  rose, 
which  she  had  just  gathered  : 

"  See,  dearest,  what  I  have  'brought  you  — 
the  first  rose  from  my  hot-house  plant  —  is 
it  not  beautiful  ?"  He  took  the  rose,  and 
drawing  her  gently  to  him,  said  : 

"  Oh !  Constance,  how  unworthy  I  am  of 
such  affection  —  of  such  entire  forgiveness. 
Yet  it  must  be  sweet  to  you,  to  feel  that  you 
have  saved  your  husband  from  further  guilt. 
So  deep  was  my  own  sense  of  the  wrong  I 
had  done  you  that  had  you  deserted  me,  as 
I  deserved,  I  must  have  continued  in  dissipa- 
tion as  a  resource  against  the  horrors  of  con- 
science. Oh !  if  men  were  always  wooed 
from  the  dark  and  troubled  path  of  sin,  by 


OF    SPARKLING    DKOPS.  1G7 

woman's  love  and  tenderness,  few  would  stray 
therein.  Bless  you,  my  beloved,  for  your 
cheerful  and  generous  trust  —  it  restores  to 
me  confidence  in  myself.  The  gratitude  I 
feel,  will  mingle  with  the  love  I  bear  you, 
flowing  on  with  the  stream  of  time,  until  the 
grave  shall  close  over  it  ?w 

And  Constance  Stanhope  was  blessed, 
through  all  the  days  of  her  after  life,  with 
the  unchanging  love  of  her  thoroughly  re- 
formed and  devoted  husband.  As  sunlight  to 
the  earth,  is  that  of  love  to  the  heart  of  wo- 
man, who  has  linked  her  fortunes,  and  bound 
up  hrr  happiness,  in  the  truth  of  another. 


for  tin 

o 


Blow  the  fire  cherrily, 
Bid  the  flames  merrily 

Crackle  and  glow; 
Hear  how  the  winds  without, 
Keep  up  their  dismal  shout, 
the  sleet  about, 
Tossing  the  snow. 


168 


THE    SILVER    CUP 


Here  it  is  cherry  warm, 

Why  should  we  heed  the  stoiin? 

We  have  a  fire; 
See  the  flames  glancing, 
Sparkling  and  prancing, 
Merrily  dancing 

Higher  and  higher! 

Still,  it  is  bitter  cold! 

God  help  the  poor  and  old 

On  this  drear  night} 
Freezing  and  sighing, 
Chilled  and  half  crying, 
Stiffening  and  dying:  — 

What  a  sad  sight! 

See  how  they  gather, 
Closer  together, 
Bemoaning  the  weather, 

QmVring  with  pain. 
How  their  teeth  chatter 
With  a  dull  clatter 
Just  like  the  patter 

Of  merciless  rain. 


Ah  me!  how  very  numb 
Finder  and  stiffened  thumb! 

O 

Yet  the  blue  lips  are  dumb, 
Utt'ring  no  groan: 


OF    SPAKKLING    DEO  PS.  16t 

- 


Limbs  growing  rigid, 
Breath  all  too  frigid 

Even  to  moan! 

What  a  soul  sick'ning  sight, 
On  this  relentless  night, 

Savage  with  Storm! 
Father  and  mother, 
Sister  and  brother, 
Hugging  each  other 

All  to  get  WARM! 

Ah, 'that  it  should  be  so, 
*God  of  the  cold  and  snow ! 
Would  He  might  help  their  woe; 

He  only  can. 
Dying  by  inches! 
How  the  cold  pinches! 
Every  nerve  flinches 

In  the  stern  man. 


Horrid!  — but  must  they  die! 
Is  there  no  other  nigh, 
None  but  the  God  on  high. 

Help  to  bestow? 
—  Does  he  not  tell  us 
WE  should  be  zealous, 
Yea,  even  anxious, 

Pity  to  show? 
8 


170  THE    SILVER    CTJF 

Shall  we  sit  idly  by, 


Seeing  them  freeze  and 
Yet  from  our  apathy 

Feeling  unchid? 
Frozen  eyes  staring, 
Wild  and  desparing, 
Horribly  glaring 

From  the  stiff  lidT 


\  —  'twere  insanity, 
Wild  inhumity, 
Startling  barbarity,  — 

Conduct  like  this! 
Unworthy  our  stations, 
Our  mutual  relations, 
Deserving  whole  nations* 

Perpetual  hiss! 
Let  us  act  nobly  then; 
Let  us  be  Christian  men, 
Striving  with  voice  and  penr 

Warmth  to  secure. 

To  those  who  ever 
Will  bless  our  endeavor, 

Holy  and  pure; 
Pleading  together, 
w  Oh,  in  the  cold  weather, 

Remember  the  poor  I" 


OF    SPARKLING    DROP9 


n  h  nt  p  n  a  tm 


171 


BY  MRS.  SIGOURNEY. 


Parent!  —  who  with  speechless  feeling, 

O'er  thy  cradled  treasure  bent, 
Every  year  new  claims  revealing, 

Yet  thy  wealth  of  love  unspent; 
Hast  thou  seen  that  blossom  blighted, 

By  a  drear,  untimely  frost? 
All  thy  labors  unrequited? 

Every  glorious  promise  lost? 

Wife  with  agony  unspoken, 

Shrinking  from  affliction's  rod, 
Is  thy  prop  —  thine  idol  broken  — 

Fondly  trusted  —  next  to  God? 
Husband!  —  o'er  thy  hope  a  mourner, 

Of  thy  chosen  friend  ashamed, 
Hast  thou  to  her  burial  borne  her, 

Unrepented  —  unreclaimed  ? 

Child !  —  in  thy  tender  weakness  turning 
To  thy  heaven-appointed  guide, 

Doth  a  lava-poison  burning, 
Tinge  with  gall  affection's  tide? 

Still  that  orphan-burden  bearing, 


172  THE    SILVER    CUP 

Darker  than  the  grave  can  show, 
Dost  thou  bow  thee  down  despairing 
To  a  heritage  of  woe? 

Country!  —  on  thy  sons  depending, 

Strong  in  manhood,  bright  in  bloom, 
Hast  thou  seen  thy  pride  descending, 

Shrouded  to  the  unclouded  tomb  ? 
Rise!  —  on  eagle  pinions  soaring  — 

Rise!  —  like  one  of  god-like  birth  — 
And  Jehovah's  aid  imploring, 

Sweep  the  spoiler  from  the  earth. 


1  have  seen  the  infant  sinking  down,  like 
the  stricken  flower,  to  the  grave  —  the  strong 
man  fiercely  breathing  out  his  soul  upon  the 
field  of  battle  —  the  miserable  convict  stand- 
ing upon  the  scaffold,  with  a  deep  curse  quiv- 
ering upon  his  lips  —  I  have  viewed  death 
in  all  his  forms  of  darkness  and  vengeance, 
with  a  tearless  eye,  —  but  I  never  could  look 
on  woman,  young  and  lovely  woman,  fading 


OF    SPARKLING    DROPS.  173 

away  from  the  earth  in  beautiful  and  uncom- 
plaining melancholy,  without  feeling  the  very 
fountains  of  life  turned  to  tears  and  dust. 
Death  is  a?  ways  terrible  —  but,  when  a  form 
of  angel  beauty  is  passing  off  to  the  silent 
land  of  the  sleepers,  the  heart  feels  that 
something  lovely  in  the  universe  is  ceasing 
from  existence,  and  broods,  with  a  sense  of 
utter  desolation,  over  the  lonely  thoughts, 
that  come  up  like  spectres  from  the  grave  to 
haunt  our  midnight  musings. 

Two  years  ago,  I  took  up  my  residence  for 
a  few  weeks  in  a  country  village  in  the  east- 
ern part  of  New  England.  Soon  after  my 
arrival,  I  became  acquainted  with  a  lovely 
girl,  apparently  about  seventeen  years  of 
age.  She  had  lost  the  idol  of  her  pure 
heart's  purest  love,  and  the  shadows  of  deep 
and  holy  memories  were  resting  like  the 
wing  of  death  upon  her  brow.  I  first  met 
her  in  the  presence  of  the  mirthful.  She 
was  indeed  a  creature  to  be  worshiped  — 
her  brow  was  garlanded  with  the  young 
year's  sweetest  flowers  —  her  yellow  locks 
were  hanging  beautifully  and  low  upon  her 


174  THE    SILVER    CUP 

bosom  —  and  she  moved  through  the  crowd 
with  such  a  floating  and  unearthly  grace, 
that  the  bewildered  gazer  almost  looked  to 
see  her  fade  into  the  air,  like  the  creation  of 
some  pleasant  dream.  She  seemed  cheerful 
and  even  gay  ;  yet  I  saw  that  her  gayety 
was  but  the  mockery  of  her  feelings.  She 
smiled,  but  there  was  something  in  her  smile 
which  told  that  its  mournful  beauty  was  but 
the  bright  reflection  of  a  tear  —  and  her  eye- 
lids, at  times,  closed  heavily  down,  as  if 
struggling  to  repress  the  tide  of  agony,  that 
was  bursting  up  from  her  heart's  secret  urn. 
She  looked  as  if  she  could  have  left  the 
scene  of  festivity,  and  gone  out  beneath  the 
quiet  stars,  and  laid  her  forehead  down  upon 
the  fresh,  green  earth,  and  poured  out  her 
stricken  soul,  gush  after  gush,  till  it  mingled 
with  the  eternal  fountain  of  life  and  purity. 
Days  and  weeks  passed  on,  and  that  sweet 
girl  gave  me  her  confidence,  and  I  became  to 
her  as  a  brother.  She  was  wasting  away  by 
disease.  The  smile  upon  her  lip  was  fainter, 
the  purple  veins  upon  her  cheek  grew  visible, 
and  the  cadences  of  her  voice  became  daily 


<OF    SPARKLINO    DUOPS.  175 

-•more  weak  and  tremulous.  On  a  quiet  eve- 
ning in  the  depth  of  June,  I  wandered  out 
with  her  a  little  distance  in  the  open  air.  It 
was  then  that  she  first  told  me  the  tale  of 
her  passion,  and  of  the  blight  that  had  come 
down  like  mildew  upon  her  life.  Love  had 
been  a  portion  of  her  existence.  Its  tendrils 
had  been  twined  around  her  heart  in  its  ear- 
liest years  ;  and,  when  they  were  rent  away, 
they  left  a  wound,  which  flowed  till  all  the 
springs  of  her  soul  were  blood.  "  I  am  pass- 
ing away,"  said  she,  "  and  it  should  be  so. 
The  winds  have  gone  over  my  life,  and  the 
bright  buds  of  hope,  and  the  sweet  blossoms 
-of  passion  are  scattered  down,  and  lie  wither- 
ing in  the  dust,  or  fading  away  upon  the 
chill  waters  of  memory.  And  yet,  I  can  not 
go  down  among  the  tombs  without  a  tear. 
It  is  hard  to  take  leave  of  the  friends  who 
love  me  —  it  is  very  hard  to  bid  farewell  to 
these  dear  scenes,  with  which  I  have  held 
communion  from  childhood,  and  which,  from 
day  to  day,  have  caught  the  color  of  my  life 
-and  sympathized  with  its  joys  and  sorrows. 
.Tbat  little  grove,  where  I  have  so  often 


176  TITE    SILVER    0  U  R 

strayed  witli  my  buried  Love,  and  where,  at. 
times,  even  now,  the  sweet  tones  of  his  voice 
seem  to  come  stealing  around  me,  till  the 
whole  air  becomes  one  intense  and  mournful 
melody  —  that  pensive  star,  which  we  used 
to  watch  in  its  early  rising,  and  on  which  my 
fancy  can  still  picture  his  form  looking  do  wa 
upon  me,  and  beckoning  me  to  his  own 
bright  home:  every  flower,  and  tree,  and; 
rivulet,  on  which  the  memory  of  our  early 
love  has  set  its  undying  seal,  has  become 
dear  to  me,  and  I  can  not,  without  a  sigh,, 
close  my  eyes  upon  them  for  ever." 

I  have  lately  heard  that  the  beautiful  girl,, 
of  whom  I  have  spoken,  is  dead.  The  close 
of  her  life  was  calm  as  the  falling  of  a  quiet 
stream  —  gentle  as  the  sinking  of  the  breeze,, 
that  lingers  for  a  time  around  a  bed  of  with- 
ered roses,  and  then  dies  "  as  't  were  from 
very  sweetness." 

It  can  not  be,  that  earth  is  man's  only  abi- 
ding place.  It  can  not  be,  that  our  life  is  a 
bubble  cast  up  by  the  Ocean  of  Eternity,  to 
float  a  moment  upon  its  waves,  and  sink  irto- 
darkness  and  nothingness..  Else  why  r?  it^ 


OF    SPARKLING    DROPS.          177 

that  the  high  and  glorious  aspirations,  which 
leap  like  angels  from  the  temple  of  our 
hearts,  are  for  ever  wandering  abroad  unsat- 
isfied  ?  Why  is  it,  that  the  rainbow  and  the 
cloud  come  over  us  with  a  beauty  that  is  not 
of  earth,  and  then  pass  off  and  leave  us,  to 
muse  upon  their  faded  loveliness  ?  Why  is 
it,  that  the  stars,  which  "  hold  their  festivals 
around  the  midnight  throne,"  are  set  above 
the  grasp  of  our  limited  faculties  —  for  ever 
mocking  us  with  their  unapproachable  glory  ? 
And,  finally,  why  is  it,  that  bright  forms  of 
human  beauty  are  presented  to  our  view  and 
then  taken  from  us  —  leaving  the  thousand 
streams  of  our  affections  to  flow  back  in  an 
Alpine  torrent  upon  our  hearts  ?  We  are 
born  for  a  higher  destiny  than  that  of  earth. 
There  is  a  realm,  where  the  rainbow  never 
fades,  where  the  stars  will  be  spread  out  be- 
fore us,  like  the  islands  that  slumber  on  the 
ocean,  and  where  the  beautiful  beings,  which 
here  pass  before  us,  like  visions,  will  stay  in 
our  presence  for  ever. 

Bright  creature  of  my  dreams,  —  in  that 
realm,  I  shall  see  thee  again.     Even  now,  thy 

8* 


178  THE    SILVER    CUP 

lost  image  is,  sometimes,  with.  me.  In  the 
mysterious  silence  of  midnight,  when  the 
streams  are  glowing  in  the  light  of  the  many 
stars,  that  image  comes  floating  upon  the 
beam  that  lingers  around  my  pillow,  and 
stands  before  me  in  its  pale,  dim  loveliness, 
till  its  own  quiet  spirit  sinks,  like  a  spell 
from  heaven,  upon  my  thoughts,  and  the 
grief  of  years  is  turned  to  dreams  of  blessed- 
ness and  peace. 


tjj* 


Maddened  by  earth's  wrong  and  evil, 

"Lord!"  I  cried  in  sudden  ire, 
"From  Thy  right  hand,  clothed  with  thunder, 
Shake  the  bolted  fire! 

"Love  is  lost,  and  faith  is  dying; 

With  the  brute  the  man  is  sold; 
And  the  drooping  blood  of  labor 
Hardens  into  gold. 

"  Here  the  dying  wail  of  famine, 
There  the  battle's  groan  of  pain; 


<OF    SPARKLING    DROPS  179 

And,  in  silence,  smooth-faced  mammon, 
Reaping  men  like  grain. 

"*"  Where  is  God,  that  we  should  fear  Him?' 

Thus  the  earth-born  Titans  say; 
"*  God !  if  thou  art  living,  hear  us !' 

Thus  the  weak  ones  pray. 

^  Thou,  the  patient  Heaven  upbraiding," 

Spake  a  solemn  voice  within; 
~"  Weary  of  our  Lord's  forbearance, 

Art  thou  free  from  sin? 

**' Fearless  "brow  to  Him  uplifting, 

Canst  thou  for  His  thunders  call, 
Knowing  that  to  guilt's  attraction 
Evermore  they  fall? 

***  Know'st  thou  not  all  germs  of  evil 

In  thy  heart  await  their  time! 
Not  thyself,  but  God's  restraining, 
Stays  their  growth  of  crime. 


*  Couldst  thou  boast,  oh !  child  of 

O'er  the  sons  of  wrong  and  strife, 
Where  their  strong  temptations  planted 
In  thy  path  of  life? 

"Thou  hast  seen  two  streamlets  gushing 
From  one  fountain,  clear  and  free, 


180  THE    SILVEE    <JUF 

But  by  widely-varying  channels 
Searching  for  the  sea. 

"Glideth  one  through  greenest  valleys,, 
Kissing  them  with  lips  still  sweety- 
One,  mad-roaring  down  the  mountains; 
Stagnates  at  their  feet. 

"Is  it  choice  whereby  the  Parsee 

Kneels  before  his  mother's  fire? 
In  his  black  tent  did  the  Tartar 
Choose  his  wandering  sire? 

"He,  alone,  whose  hand  is  bounding 

Human  power  and  human  will, 
Looking  through  each  soul's  surrounding 
Knows  its  good  or  ill. 

'For  thyself,  while  wrong  and  sorrow 
Make  to  thee  their  strong  appeal, 
Coward  wert  thou  not  to  utter 
What  the  heart  must  feeL 

*  Earnest  words  must  needs  be  spoken, 

When  the  warm  heart  bleeds  or  burnr 
With  the  scorch  of  wrong,  or  pity 
For  the  wronged,  by  turns. 

"But,  by  all  thy  nature's  weakness, 
Hidden  faults,  and  follies  known, 


OF    SI' ARK  LIN  G    DKOPS.  181 

Be  tliou,  in  rebuking  evil, 
Conscious  of  thine  own. 

'  Not  the  less  shall  stern-eyed  duty 

To  thy  lips  her  trumpet  set, 
But  with  harsher  blasts  shall  mingle 

Wailing  of  regret." 

Cease  not,  voice  of  holy  speaking, 

Teacher  sent  of  God,  be  near, 
Whispering  through  the  day's  cool  silence, 

Let  thy  spirit  hear! 

So  when  thoughts  of  evil-doers 

Waken  scorn,  or  hatred  move, 
Shall  a  mournful  fellow-being 

Temper  all  with  love. 


ine  on  fy*  Ebbing  Htgjjt 


0  woman,  had'st  thou  known 

The  witchery  of  that  cup, 
Thou  ne'er  thy  husband  would'st  have  urg'd, 

To  sip,  to  drink  it  up; 
Upon  thy  bridal  night, 


182  THE    SILVER    CUP 

Amid  the  festal  throng, 
You  pressed  the  poison  to  those  lips, 
That  had  refused  so  long. 

He  drank,  for  thee  he  drank, 

And  madness  fill'd-  his  brain! 
That  gleam  of  joy,  that  lit  thine  eye, 

Was  followed  quick  by  pain. 
He  drank,  for  thee  he  drank, 

And  fled  thy  prospects  bright! 
O!  bitter  were  the  tears  you  shed, 

Upon  that  bridal  night. 

But  bitterer  far  at  morn, 

And  through  succeeding  years; 
You  weep  for  him  you  caused  to  fall, 

Nor  can  you  dry  your  tears; 
At  morn,  at  noon,  at  eve, 

When  stars  are  bright  above, 
And  through  the  long  and  stilly  night, 

You  weep  for  him  you  love. 

But  he  returns  again 

To  his  devoted  bride! 
May  joy  be  yours,  and  may  you  long 

With  your  lost  one  abide. 
But  never  tempt  again, 

Thy  husband,  dear,  to  sip 
The  sparkling  wine-cup,  never,  no, 

Nor  let  it  touch  thy  lip. 


OF    SPARKLING    DEOPS.  183 

0  woman,  given  to  man 

To  cheer  him  on  his  way, 
Beware,  lest  through  your  means,  his  feet 

Should  ever  learn  to  stray. 


ona  of  titmmm 


BY   REV.    U.   CLARK. 


IT  is  scarcely  a  quarter  of  a  century  since 
the  Temperance  Reform  had  its  commence- 
ment. In  its  original  forms  it  accomplished 
all  that  could  have  been  expected ;  but 
the  work  was  delayed  to  receive  new  im- 
pulses from  Washingtonianism.  Its  name  — 
founded  upon  the  Father  of  our  country  — 
a  name  this  day  and  for  ever  dear  and  glo- 
rious in  the  memory  of  every  American 
bosom  —  its  name,  animated  by  the  life-giv- 
ing power  of  moral  principle  and  love,  found 
its  way  home  to  the  bleeding  and  outcast 
inebriate.  Its  messengers  seemed,  like  the 
lowly  Nazarine  and  the  fishermen  of  Galilee, 
going  forth  after  the  lost  and  fallen,  with 


184  THE    8ILVEB    CUP 

nothing  but  simple  tales  of  suffering,  and 
words  of  brotherly  affection,  and  tears  of 
sympathy.  O !  it  was  a  melting  scene  to 
behold  that  crowding  throng  of  miserable 
beings  that  came  up  from  their  ruin,  and 
reached  out  their  hands  for  a  brother's  grasp, 
and  shook  off  their  filth,  and  wiped  away  the 
great  salt  drops  from  their  burning  and  quiv- 
ering faces,  and  with  trembling  fingers  signed 
their  names,  and  swelling  hearts  made  their 
sorrowful  confessions,  and  then  ran  home  to 
throw  themselves  at  the  feet  of  their  once 
wretched  wives,  and  mothers,  and  offspring  ! 
WASHINGTONIANISM  !  —  be  that  name  forever 
associated,  in  its  purity,  with  HTM  who  shall 
remain  dear  in  the  hearts  of  his  countrymen 
down  to  the  latest  generation  of  mankind. 

But  in  time,  the  want  of  a  proper  organi- 
zation in  Washingtonianism,  and  the  conse- 
quent lack  of  fidelity  to  its  principles,  made 
it  apparent  that  some  new  system  was  requi- 
site to  the  salvation  of  the  Temperance  Re- 
form. A  stronger  moral  and  social  power,  a 
closer  fellowship  was  needed,  and  a  deep 
family  interest  must  become  awakened  The 


OF    SPARKLING    DROPS.  185 

prosperity  and  influence  of  other  beneficial 
Orders,  not  open  to  the  idle  curiosity  of  the 
world,  suggested  the  present  organization  of 
the  Sons  of  Temperance  ;  and  the  first  Divi- 
sion was  opened  in  the  city  of  New  York, 
September  29th,  1842. 

Since  that  time,  the  Order  has  reached 
almost  every  state  in  the  Union  —  has  in- 
creased in  numbers  and  influence  with  a 
rapidity  unprecedented  in  the  annals  of 
human  reformation,  and  it  has  gone  far  be- 
yond the  most  brilliant  hopes  of  its  founders. 

On  the  list  of  our  Order,  are  now  enrolled 
many  names  of  the  wisest,  and  best,  and 
most  philanthropic  of  our  age  and  country. 
This  fact  alone,  should  be  sufficient  to  quiet 
the  groundless  fears  of  the  uninformed  in 
regard  to  a  dangerous  abuse  of  our  associa- 
tion. It  may  be  expected  that  the  opponents 
of  Temperance  Reform  —  if  there  are  any — 
should  make  the  most  serious  objections,  and 
endeavor  to  create  the  wildest  alarms.  They 
may  term  our  Order  a  secret  confederacy, 
cliqued  together  for  the  purpose  of  muzzling 
the  people,  and  gaining  political  or  sectarian 


186  THE    SILVER    CUP 

ascendency;  but  we  have  too  much  confi- 
dence in  the  liberality  and  intelligence  of 
community  to  believe  that  such  insinuations 
will  be  received  with  either  credit  or  ap- 
plause, by  those  who  are  acquainted  with  the 
prominent  members  of  our  Order.  Yet,  per- 
haps, there  are  objections  which  are  offered 
in  seriousness,  and  are  entitled  to  attention, 
because  they  are  entertained  by  those  whose 
judgment  on  other  subjects,  we  may  regard 
with  becoming  defference.  It  is  possible  that 
the  best  measures  of  Reform  may  have  been 
opposed  by  honest  men.  No  innovation  in 
science,  philosophy,  or  human  improvement, 
has  passed  without  a  violent  opposition. 
And  it  may  not  have  been  expected  that 
this  form  of  the  Temperance  movement 
should  have  escaped  the  violence  of  that 
conservatism  which  has  ever  maintained  an 
opposing  attitude.  But  we  direct  our  ap- 
peals in  behalf  of  the  Sons  of  Temperance, 
only  to  the  candid,  liberal,  and  intelligent 
Men  who  are  determined  to  remain  uncon- 
vinced in  regard  to  the  propriety  and  benefi- 
cence of  our  Order,  may  elicit  more  of  our 


OF    SPARKLING    DKOPS.         187 

charity  than  disapprobation.  With  confi- 
dence in  the  triumph  of  our  cause,  we  main- 
tain a  position  too  elevated  to  indulge  in 
ridicule  or  abuse  against  those  who  may 
stand  in  opposition.  On  this,  as  upon  every 
other  theme,  we  only  ask  for  investigation. 
Let  the  principles,  the  objects,  the  bearings, 
and  the  benefits  of  our  institution  be  Bxam- 
ined  in  the  light  of  truth  and  experience,  and 
we  stand  or  fall  by  the  decision. 

If  we  tell  you  on  the  honor  and  veracity 
of  men  and  citizens,  that  there  can  be  no 
reasonable  objections  against  the  nature  of 
our  private  doings,  may  we  not  expect  to  be 
credited  upon  the  ordinary  rules  of  evidence  ? 
And  this  we  do.  Our  Order  permits  noth- 
ing that  would  cause  a  blush  to  mantle  the 
cheek  of  the  purest  modesty  or  religion. 
Ask  those  brothers  in  whose  virtue  and  in- 
tegrity community  reposes  a  grateful  confi- 
dence. We  have  our  forms  and  pass-words, 
to  protect  ourselves  from  the  imposition  of 
the  unprincipled,  but  these  are  of  a  character 
that  require  no  violation  of  the  strictest 
honor  or  religion.  Our  private  business 


188  THE    SILVEE    CUP 

transactions  belong  not  to  the  world,  but  to 
ourselves  alone.  If  we  are  condemned  for 
this,  we  may  condemn  every  man,  or  firm,  or 
company,  or  family,  or  council,  or  jury,  that 
acts  with  closed  doors,  and  proclaims  not  its 
doings-  upon  the  housetops. 

Our  secrets,  what  are  they  ?  Love,  and 
Purity,  and  Fidelity.  Is  an  unworthy  candi- 
date proposed  for  membership  ?  We  are  not 
permitted  to  proclaim  his  refusal  to  the 
world,  or  brand  him,  or  the  brother  who 
warns  us  against  him,  with  disgrace.  Is  a 
brother  reduced  to  want,  by  sickness  or  mis- 
fortune ?  We  humble  him  not,  by  exposing 
his  dependent  condition  to  the  world,  or  pub- 
lishing abroad  our  deeds  of  charity.  The 
cold  left  hand  of  fellowship  may  know  not 
what  our  right  hand  doeth  ;  but  the  God 
that  seeth  in  secret,  shall  tender  the  open 
reward.  Does  a  tempted  brother  break  that 
holy  pledge  of  honor  ?  We  gather  around 
him  in  brotherly  love  and  sympathy  to  ex- 
postulate. We  tell  not  of  his  shame  and 
fall.  We  load  him  with  no  public  infamy, 
that  shall  sink  him  deeper  into  disgrace  and 


OF    SPARKLING    DROPS.  189 

despair.  His  error  is  lodged  in  bis  own  soul, 
and  lies  hard  upon  the  hearts  of  his  brethren. 
He  is  made  to  feel  his  own  fault,  and  to  feel 
that  he  has  wounded  the  honor  of  his  fra- 
ternity. We  throw  around  him  all  the 
influences  of  kindness,  and  reason,  and  for- 
bearance, and  when  the  hot  tears  of  peni- 
tence roll  down  his  blushing  face,  we  take 
him  by  the  hand,  again  to  forget  and  forgive. 
We  save  him,  if  possible,  but  if  he  must  go, 
it  is  ours  to  follow  him  with  blessings  instead 
of  curses. 

The  exalted  influence  our  Order  is  calcu- 
lated to  exert,  can  no  longer  remain  a  subject 
of  doubt.  The  Temperance  Keform  had 
assumed  that  aspect  in  the  history  of  nations, 
which  demanded  a  strong  and  permanent 
organization.  Since  the  first  reform  arose  to 
stay  the  tide  of  Intemperance,  the  public 
mind  has  been  growing  into  the  belief,  that 
no  single  evil  needed  a  mightier  check  than 
this.  It  has  hurled  nations  and  individuals 
from  their  loftiest  pinnacles,  and  carried  mill- 
ions along  in  its  engulphing  stream.  It  is 
not  alone  that  the  family  hearth  has  been 


190  THE    SILVEE    CUP 

turned  into  desolation,  and  its  fires  extin- 
guished —  not  alone  that  the  wife,  and 
mother,  and  offspring,  of  the  indigent  have 
been  robbed  and  beggared,  and  sent  away 
shrieking  and  howling  before  the  scourge, 
with  haggard  faces  and  lean  hands,  to  plead 
for  bread,  and  protection  from  the  dernonized 
father  —  not  alone  that  youth,  and  beauty, 
and  virtue  have  fallen,  and  in  the  starless 
night,  and  storm  of  passion,  have  drowned 
the  deep  sense  of  remorse  in  the  burning 
ocean  of  Intemperance.  The  brave  and  the 
mighty  amid  the  world's  constellations  have 
gone  down  that  dreadful  malstroom  whose 
vortex  feeds  upon  human  prey,  and  whose 
waves  have  cast  their  bleachen  wrecks  upon 
every  shore,  and  washed  away  the  fabric  of 
empires.  Upon  the  altars  of  Bacchus  and 
Silenus  have  been  slaughtered  more  victims 
than  have  fallen  before  Mars'  rolling  car  of 
war,  and  rapine,  and  murder.  The  Northern 
Sons  of  Odin  and  Valhalla  came  to  worship 
upon  this  burning  altar,  and  with  the  Gre- 
cian and  Roman  Bacchanalians  perished  in 
the  wild  delirium  of  the  quaffed  cup.  The 


OF    SPAKKLING    DROPS. 

genius  of  a  Homer  and  Hafiz,  Anecreon  and 
Johnson,  and  Byron,  and  Voltaire,  became 
dregged,  and  steeped,  and  inflamed  in  this 
soul-consuming  element.  The  young,  disgus- 
ted Cyrus  flung  the  damning  eup  from  his 
grasp,  as  he  beheld  its  beastly  power  over 
princes  and  monarchs.  The  ancient  Lacede- 
monians played  the  mimic  drunkard  to  in- 
spire their  youth  with  abhorrence  of  the 
curse  of  Intemperance.  No  marvel  that  Na- 
ture itself  has  burst  out  in  spontaneous  com- 
bustion to  consume  the  inflated  mass  of 
human  bodies  drugged  to  a  living  hell.  It 
is  to  assist  men  in  governing  themselves,  that 
we  throw  around  them  all  our  moral  and 
social  influence.  We  go  out  into  society  and 
find  that  man  who  has  been  long  since  aban- 
doned. Old  friends  have  forsaken  him,  and 
he  is  left  exposed  to  all  the  wiles  of  evil. 
He  has  tried  again  and  again  to  abandon  his 
habits,  but  his  family  and  friends  have  des- 
paired. We  take  him  by  the  hand,  and  he 
stands  in  the  Halls  of  the  Sons  of  Temper- 
ance. And  who  are  these  that  stand  around 
him,  with  cheerful  smiles,  and  open  hearts* 


192  THE    SILVER    CUP 

and  the  warm  grasp  of  friendship,  to  wel- 
come ?  Brothers  !  yes,  brothers  !  And  as 
he  there  takes  that  solemn  pledge  upon  his 
lips,  and  is  made  to  feel  that  all  these  will 
cling  by,  and  sympathize  with  him,  the 
holiest  purposes  are  nourished  within  his 
soul.  How  can  he  feel  that  he  shall  ever 
willfully  violate  the  confidence  of  that  band, 
which  hails  him  as  a  brother  ?  He  is  bound 
by  that  golden  chain  whose  links  bind  hea- 
ven and  earth  ;  and  if  he  breaks  this,  he  is 
made  to  realize  that  he  has  broken  the 
mightiest  and  most  sacred  of  human  ties. 
All  that  is  endearing  in  home,  and  heaven 
and  humanity,  as  if  in  the  presence  of  the 
all-seeing  eye  of  God,  hallows  that  solemn 
obligation  which  he  has  assumed,  and  makes 
it  more  omnipotent  over  his  moral  nature 
than  penal  laws,  or  bolts,  or  bars,  or  dun- 
geons, or  the  thunders  of  fearful  denunciation. 
That  man  who  was  once  lone  and  neglec- 
ted in  society,  now  starts  into  a  new  life  of 
hope  and  joy,  as  he  sees  himself  surrounded 
by  friends  who  can  take  him  by  the  hand 
and  call  him  brother.  And  when  the  wild 


OF    SPABKLING    DROPS.  193 

Storm  of  evil,  and  sorrow,  and  sickness,  and 
distress,  howls  over  his  head,  and  the  dark 
waves  are  rolling  on  to  engulph  him,  an  un- 
called host  rush  to  his  rescue,  to  relieve  his 
distresses,  and  shed  the  halo  of  sympathy 
•around  that  darkened  scene.  That  tender 
wife  and  mother  watch  not  alone  around  the 
bedside,  to  feel  that  the  world  has  forgotten, 
in  the  hour  of  calamity.  That  husband  has 
now  become  more  deeply  endeared  to  her, 
End  her  once  famishing  children.  She  re- 
members all  that  she  has  endured  in  the 
days  of  his  fall,  and  now  that  he  has  become 
himself  again,  she  keeps  her  night  vigils  with 
a  more  anxious  and  throbbing  heart.  The 
well  of  her  affection  has  never  been  dry,  but 
now  it  is  watered  anew,  and  she  is  made  to 
feel  that  she  loves  one  who  is  loved  and  re- 
spected by  a  band  of  faithful  brothers,  who 
gather  around  him  in  the  hour  of  need  ;  and 
when  death  comes  it  is  robbed  of  half  its 
terrors.  She  walks  not  down  to  the  grave  a 
lonely,  and  indigent,  and  neglected  mourner, 
^but  she  is  followed  by  those  who  go  to  pay 
their  last  rites  over  the  remains  of  a  brother. 

9 


194  THE    SILVER    CUP 

Let  the  power  of  unfaltering  "  Fidelity " 
to  our  principles,  mark  the  progress  of  our 
Heform,  and  onward,  onward  to  glorious 
conquest  is  ours  !  With  "  Purity  "  written 
upon  our  hearts  and  lives,  and  "Love"  wa- 
ving upon  our  banners,  ours  shall  "be  the 
thousand  captives  of  love  and  liberty.  Love, 
ascending  to  God  —  embracing  brethren  — 
and  streaming  out  over  the  wide  surface  of 
humanity,  shall  be  the  element  in  which  the 
demon  of  man  shall  lose  its  power.  Before 
theef  oh,  Love  !  thou  winged  messenger  of 
the  Almighty,  that  sang  above  the  plains  of 
Bethlehem,  and  triumphed  over  man  in  the 
mission  of  Jesus  !  before  thee  shall  the  king- 
doms of  darkness  and  depravity  crumble, 
and  the  enslaved  arise  to  life  and  liberty. 
Thy  tears,  oh,  Love  !  shall  fall  like  angels  of 
mercy  upon  the  cold  and  desolate  heart,  to 
melt  and  soften  its  iciness.  Thy  hand  shall 
lead  the  wayward  back  to  virtue,  and  wipe 
away  the  big  tears  of  sorrow  and  penitence 
that  roll  down  the  haggard  and  care-worn 
countenance.  Thy  light  shall  shine  like  the 
beacon  of  hope  to  the  mariner  that  straggles 


OF    SPAEKLIKG    DROPS. 

upon  the  wrecks  of  a  howling  night.  Rank 
on  rank,  and  file  on  file,  Shall  move  on  thy 
mission,  oh,  Love,  until  the  mountain  of  the 
Lord  shall  spread  abroad  its  Lebanon 
branches,  for  the  overshadowing  of  the  na- 
tions. Thine  shall  be  the  power  to  nourish 
and  invigorate  that  tree  of  immortal  liberty, 
upon  which  blooms  ambrosial  fruits  and 
flowers,  but  upon  which  man  once  looked  in 
proud  and  scornful  defiance. 

"  But  Heaven  beheld  and  blest 
Its  branchy  glories,  spreading  o'er  the  West. 
No  summer  gaude,  the  wonder  of  a  day, 
Born  but  to  bloom,  and  then  to  fade  away,  — 
A  giant  oak,  it  lifts  its  lofty  form, 
Greens  in  the  sun,  and  strengthens  in  the  storm. 
Long  in  its  shade  shall  children's  children  come, 
And  welcome  earth's  poor  wanderers  to  a  home. 
Long  shall  it  live,  and  every  blast  defy, 
Till  Tune's  last  whirlwind  sweeps  the  vaulted  sky." 


196  THE    SILVER    CtfP 


BY  MISS  E.  M.  ALLEN. 


There  are  shadows,  flitting,  flitting 

O'er  the  sunlight  of  this  heart, 
In  their  wildness  ever  fitting 

To  the  outward  counterpart; 
i)aring  dreams  of  proud  ambition, 

Darkened  by  the  flight  of  years., 
Moments,  joyous  in  fruition, 

Yielding  to  an  age  of  tears. 

There  are  whispers,  thrilling,  thrilling 

All  this  anxious,  eager  soul, 
With  a  strange,  sweet  impulse  filling 

Till  it  brooks  not  my  control; 
Whispers  of  the  pure  and  holy, 

Calling  to  a  far-off"  shore, 
Where  the  shade  of  melancholy 

Flits  across  the  soul  no  more. 

There  is  music  stealing,  stealing 
From  the  flow'rets  trembling  bell, 

Soft  its  vesper  chimes  are  pealing 

In  the  spirits'  cloistered  cell; 
J  T  is  the  hour  of  sweet  devotion, 


OF    SPARKLING    DROPS.  197 

Hence,  unhallowed  doubts  and  fears! 
Grief  is  ours  on  life's  dark  ocean, 
But  the  haven  hath  no  tears. 

There  are  visions,  cheering,  cheering 

As  the  chilling  shadows  creep, 
At  the  twilight  hour  appearing 

When  the  heart  is  prone  to  weep; 
Visions,  varied,  truthful,  tender, 

O'er  the  spirit  clouds  they  rise, 
Hallowed  by  a  dreamy  splendor, 

Gathered  only  from  the  skies. 


BY  MBS.  M.  L.  BAILET. 

Oh!  pleasant  are  the  memories 
Of  childhood's  forest  home, 

And  oft,  amid  the  toils  of  life, 
Like  blessed  dreams  they  come: 

Of  sunset  hours  when  I  lay  entranced, 

'Mid  shadows  cool  and  green, 
Watching  the  winged  insect's  glance, 
In  summer's  golden  sheen: 


198  THE    SILVER    CUP 

Their  drowsy  hum  was  a  lullaby 

To  Nature's  quiet  sleeping, 
While  o'er  the  meadow's  dewy  breast 

The  evening  winds  were  creeping: 

The  plowman's  whistle  heard  afar, 
To  his  humble  home  returning; 

And  faintly  in  the  gathering  shade 
The  firefly's  lamp  was  burning. 

Up  in  the  old  oak's  pleasant  shade, 
Where  mossy  branches  swing, 

With  gentle  twittering,  soft  and  low, 
Nestling  with  fluttering  wing, — 

Were  summer  birds,  their  tender  notes 
Like  love's  own  fond  caressing. 

When  a  mother  folds  her  little  flock, 
With  a  whispered  prayer  and  blessing. 

The  cricket  chirps  from  the  hollow  tree 

To  the  music  of  the  rill, 
And  plaintively  echoes  through  the  wood 

The  song  of  the  whipporwil. 

Tinged  with  the  last  faint  light  of  day, 
A  white  cloud  in  the  west 

Floats  in  the  azure  sea  above, 
Like  a  ship  on  ocean's  breast. 


OF    SPAHKLING    DROPS.  199 

The  evening  star  as  a  beacon  shines 

On  the  far  horizon's  verge, 
And  the  wind  moans  through  the  distant  pines 

Like  the  troubled  ocean's  surge. 

From  lowly  vales  the  rising  mist 

Curls  up  the  hill-side  green, 
And  its  summit,  'twixt  the  earth  and  sky, 

Like  a  fairy  isle  is  seen. 

Away  in  the  depths  of  ether  shine 

The  stars,  serenely  bright,  — 
Gems  in  the  glorious  diadeni 

Circling  the  brow  of  night 

Our  Father!  if  thy  meaner  works 

Thus  beautiful  appear, 
If  such  revealings  of  thy  love 

Enkindle  rapture  here, — 

If  to  our  mortal  sense  thou  dost 

Thy  treasures  thus  unfold; 
When  death  shall  rend  this  earthly  vail, 

How  shall  our  eyes  behold 

Thy  glory  —  when  the  spirit  soars 

Beyond  the  starry  zone, 
And  in  thy  presence  folds  her  wings, 

And  bows  before  thy  throne! 


200  THE    SILVER    CUP 


in  Irhnt  If  into, 


BY  ALBERT  BARNES. 


IN  proving  this  proposition,  I  shall  take 
for  granted  two  or  three  points  which  are 
now  conceded,  and  to  establish  whieh  would 
lead  me  too  far  out  of  my  way.  The  first  is,. 
that  this  i&  not  an  employment  in  which  the 
properties  of  the  article  are  unknown.  The 
seller  has  as  good  an  opportunity  to  be 
acquainted  with  the  qualities  of  the  article,, 
and  its  effects,  as  the  buyer.  There  is  no 
concealment  of  its  character,  and  tendency  ; 
there  can  be  no  pretense  that  you  were 
deceived  in  regard  to  those  qualities,  and 
that  you  were  unintentionally  engaged  in  the 
sale  of  an  article  which  has  turned  out  to  be 
otherwise  than  you  supposed  it  to  be.  For, 
alas  !  those  properties  are  too  well  ascer- 
tained :  and  all  who  are  engaged  in  this 
employment  have  ample  opportunity  ta 
know  what  they  are  doing,  and  engage  in  it 
with  their  eyes  open, 


OF    SPARKLING  -DROPS.         201 

The  effects  of  this  traffic  are  well  known. 
The  public  mind  has  been,  with  remarkable 
intensity,  directed  to  this  subject  for  ten 
years  in  this  land,  and  the  details  have  been 
laid  before  the  American  public.  It  is 
believed  that  no  vice  has  ever  been  so  faith- 
fully guaged,  and  the  details  so  well  ascer- 
tained, as  the  vice  of  intemperance  in  this 
nation.  It  is  far  better  understood  than  the 
extent  of  gambling,  or  piracy,  or  robbery, 
or  the  slave  trade.  It  is  established  now 
beyond  the  possibility  of  debate,  that  ardent 
spirits  is  a  poison,  as  certain,  as  deadly,  and 
destructive,  as  any  other  poison.  It  may  be 
more  slow  in  its  effects,  but  it  is  not  the  less 
certain.  This  is  established  by  the  testimony 
of  all  physicians  and  chemists  who  have 
expressed  an  opinion  on  the  subject.  It  is 
not  necessaiy  for  the  welfare  of  man  as  an 
ordinary  drink.  This  is  proved  by  the  like 
testimony,  by  the  example  of  many  thou- 
sands who  abstain  from  it,  and  by  the  fact, 
that,  before  its  invention,  the  Eoman  soldier, 
the  Scythian,  and  the  Greek,  were  as  hardy 
and  long  lived  as  men  have  been  since.  Its 

9* 


202  THE.    SILVER     CUP 

direct  tendency  is  to  produce  disease,  poverty, 
crime,  and  death.  Its  use  tends  to  corrupt 
the  morals,  to  enfeeble  the  intellect,  to  pro- 
duce indolence,  wretchedness  and  woe  in  the 
family  circle  ;  to  shorten  life,  and  to  hurry 
to  a  loathsome  grave  ;  to  spread  a  pall  of 
grief  over  families  and  nations.  It  is  ascer- 
tained to  be  the  source  of  nine-tenths  of  all 
the  pauperism,  and  nine-tenths  of  all  the 
crimes  in  the  land.  It  fills  our  streets  with 
drunkards,  our  alms-houses  with  loathsome 
wretches,  our  jails  with  poor  criminals,  and 
supplies  our  gibbets  with  victims.  It  costs 
the  land  on  which  we  live  more  than  100,- 
000,000  of  dollars  annually,  and  renders  us 
no  compensation  but  poverty,  want,  curses, 
loathsomeness,  and  tears.  In  any  single 
year  in  this  Union,  could  the  effects  be  gath- 
ered into  one  single  grasp,  they  would  pre- 
sent to  the  eye  the  following  affecting  details. 
An  army  of  at  least  300,000  drunkards  — 
not  made  up  of  old  men,  of  the  feeble,  but 
of  those  in  early  life  ;  of  our  youth,  of  our 
men  of  talents  and  influence  ;  an  enlistment 
from  the  bar,  the  bench,  the  pulpit,  the 


OF    SPARKLING    DROPS.  203 

homes  of  the  rich,  and  the  fire-sides  of  piety ; 
the  abodes  of  the  intelligent,  as  well  as  the 
places  of  obscurity,  and  the  humble  ranks  — 
all  reeling  together  to  a  drunkard's  grave. 
With  this  army  Napoleon  would  have  over- 
run Europe.  In  the  same  group  would  be 
no  less  than  75,000  criminals  —  made  such 
by  the  use  of  ardent  spirits  —  criminals  of 
every  grade  and  die,  supported  at  the  ex- 
pense of  the  sober,  and  lost  to  morality,  and 
industry,  and  hope  —  the  source  of  lawsuits, 
and  the  fountain  of  no  small  part  of  the  ex- 
penses of  courts  of  justice.  In  the  same 
group  would  be  no  less  than  200,000  pau- 
pers, in  a  land  abounding  in  all  the  wealth 
that  the  richest  soil  can  give,  and  under  all 
the  facilities  which  the  most  favored  spot 
under  the  whole  heaven  can  furnish  for 
acquiring  a  decent  and  honest  subsistence. 
Paupers  supported  at  the  expense  of  the  so- 
ber and  the  industrious,  and  creating  no  small 
part  of  our  taxes,  to  pay  for  their  indolence, 
and  wretchedness,  and  crimes.  And  in  the 
same  group  would  be  no  less  than  600  insane 
persons,  made  such  by  intemperance,  in  all 


204  THE    SILVER    CUP 

the  horrid  and  revolting  forms  of  delirium  — 
the  conscience  destroyed,  the  mind  obliter- 
ated, and  hope  and  happiness  fled  for  ever. 
And  in  the  same  group  there  would  be  no 
less  than  30,000  of  our  countrymen,  who  die 
annually,  as  the  direct  effect  of  the  use  of 
ardent  spirit.  Thirty  thousand  of  our  coun- 
trymen sinking  to  the  most  loathsome  and 
dishonored  of  all  graves,  the  grave  of  the 
drunkard.  This  is  just  a  summary  of  the 
obvious  and  sure  effects  of  this  vice.  The 
innumerable  woes  that  it  incidentally  causes  ; 
the  weeping  and  groans  of  the  widow  and 
the  fatherless  ;  the  crimes  and  vices  which  it 
tends  to  introduce  into  abodes  that  would, 
but  for  this,  be  the  abodes  of  peace,  are  not, 
and  cannot  be  taken  into  the  account. 

Now  this  state  of  things,  if  produced  in 
any  other  way,  would  spread  weeping  and 
sackcloth  over  nations  and  continents.  Any 
sweeping  pestilence  that  could  do  this,  would 
hold  a  nation  in  alarm,  and  diffuse,  from  one 
end  of  it  to  the  other,  trembling  and  horror. 
The  world  has  never  known  any  thing  else 
like  it.  The  father  of  mischief  has  never 


OF    SPARKLING    DKOPS.          205 

been  able  to  invent  any  thing  that  should 
diffuse  more  wide-spread  and  dreadful  evils. 
It  is  agreed  further,  and  well  understood, 
that  this  is  the  regular  effect  of  the  traffic, 
and  manufacture,  and  use  of  this  article.  It 
is  not  casual,  incidental,  irregular.  It  "is 
uniform,  certain,  deadly,  as  the  sirocco  of  the 
desert,  or  as  the  malaria  of  the  Pontine 
marshes.  It  is  not  a  periodical  influence, 
returning  at  distant  intervals  ;  but  it  is  a 
pestilence,  breathing  always — diffusing  the 
poison  when  men  sleep,  and  when  they 
wake  —  by  day  and  by  night,  in  seed  time 
and  harvest  —  attending  the  manufacture 
and  sale  of  the  article  always.  The  de- 
stroyer seeks  his  victim  alike  in  every 
hogshead,  and  in  every  glass.  He  exempts 
no  man  from  danger  that  uses  it ;  and  is  al- 
ways secure  of  prostrating  the  most  vigorous 
frame  ;  of  clouding  the  most  splendid  intel- 
lect ;  of  benumbing  the  most  delicate  moral 
feelings ;  of  palsying  the  most  eloquent 
tongue ;  of  teaching  those  on  whose  lips 
senates  hung,  to  mutter  and  babble  with 
the  drunkard ;  and  of  entombing  the  most 


206  THE    SILVER    CUP 

brilliant  talents  and  hopes  of  youth,  wherever 
man  can  be  induced  to  drink.  The  establish- 
ment of  every  distillery,  and  every  dram- 
shop, and  every  grocery  where  it  is  sold, 
secures  the  certainty  that  many  a  man  will 
thereby  become  a  drunkard,  and  be  a  curse 
to  himself  and  to  the  world.  The  traffic  is 
not  only  occasionally  and  incidentally  in- 
jurious, but  it  is  like  the  generation  before 
the  flood  in  its  effects,  evil,  and  only  evil 
continually. 

Now  the  question  is,  whether  this  is  an 
employment  in  which  a  moral  man  and  a 
Christian  man  ought  to  be  engaged  ?  Is  it 
such  a  business  as  his  countrymen  ought  to 
approve?  Is  it  such  as  his  conscience  and 
sober  judgment  approve  ?  Is  it  such  as  his 
God  and  Judge  will  approve  ? 

In  examining  this,  let  it  be  remembered 
that  the  reason  why  this  occupation  is  en- 
gaged in,  and  the  sole  reason,  is  to  make  mo- 
ney. It  is  not  because  it  is  supposed  that  it 
will  benefit  mankind  ;  nor  is  it  because  the 
man  supposes  that  duty  to  his  Creator  re- 
quires it ;  nor  is  it  because  it  is  presumed 


OF    SPARKLING    DBOPS.  207 

that  it  will  promote  public  health,  or  morals, 
or  happiness  ;  but  it  is  engaged  in  and  pur- 
sued solely  as  a  means  of  livelihood  or  of 
wealth.  And  the  question  then  is  reduced 
to  a  very  narrow  compass  ;  is  it  right  for  a 
man,  for  the  sake  of  gain,  to  be  engaged  in 
the  sale  of  a  poison  —  a  poison  attended 
with  destruction  to  the  property,  health,  hap- 
piness, peace,  and  salvation  of  his  neigh- 
bors—  producing  mania,  and  poverty,  and 
curses,  and  death,  and  woes  innumerable  to 
the  land,  and  to  the  Church  of  God  ?  A 
question  this,  one  would  think,  that  might 
be  very  soon  answered.  In  answering  it,  I 
invite  attention  to  a  few  very  obvious,  but 
undeniable  positions. 

1. —  It  is  an  employment  which  tends  to 
counteract  tJie  very  design  of  the  organization 
of  society.  Society  is  organized  on  a  benev- 
olent principle.  The  structure  of  that  organ- 
ization is  one  of  the  best  adapted  instances 
of  design,  and  of  benevolence,  any  where  to 
be  found.  It  is  on  this  principle  that  a  law- 
ful employment  —  an  employment  fitted  to 
produce  subsistence  for  a  man  and  his  family, 


208  THE    SILVER    CUP 

will  not  interfere  with  the  rights  and  happi- 
ness of  others.  It  may  be  pursued  without 
violating  any  of  their  rights,  or  infringing  on 
their  happiness  in  any  way.  Nay,  it  may 
not  only  not  interfere  with  their  rights  and 
happiness,  but  it  will  tend  to  promote  di- 
rectly their  welfare,  by  promoting  the  happi- 
ness of  the  whole.  Or,  for  example,  the 
employment  of  the  farmer  may  be  pursued 
not  only  without  interfering  with  the  lights 
or  privileges  of  the  mechanic,  the  physician, 
or  the  merchant,  but  it  will  directly  contrib- 
ute to  their  welfare,  and  is  indispensable  to 
it.  The  employment  of  the  physician  not 
only  contributes  to  the  support  of  himself 
and  family,  but  to  the  welfare  of  the  whole 
community.  It  not  only  does  not  interfere 
with  the  rights  and  happiness  of  the  farmer 
and  mechanic,  but  it  tends  directly  to  their 
advantage.  The  employment  of  the  mer- 
chant in  lawful  traffic,  not  only  contributes 
to  his  support,  but  is  directly  beneficial  to 
the  whole  agricultural  part  of  the  commu- 
nity ;  for,  as  has  been  well  said,  "  the  mer- 
chant is  the  friend  of  mankind."  He  injures 


OF    SPARKLING    DROPS.  209 

no  man,  at  the  same  time  that  he  benefits 
himself;  and  he  contributes  to  the  welfare 
of  the  community,  by  promoting  a  healthful 
and  desirable  exchange  of  commodities  in 
different  parts  of  the  land,  and  of  various 
natures.  The  same  is  true  of  the  mechanic, 
the  mariner,  the  legislator,  the  book-maker, 
the  day-laborer,  the  schoolmaster,  the  lawyer, 
the  clergyman. 

Now,  we  maintain,  that  the  traffic  in  ar- 
dent spirits,  as  a  drink,  is  a  violation  of  this 
wise  arrangement.  It  tends  to  sap  the  foun- 
dation of  the  whole  economy.  It  is  solely  to 
benefit  the  trafficer,  and  it  tends  to  evil,  evil 
only,  evil  continually.  If  every  man  should 
act  on  this  principle,  society  could  not  exist. 
If  every  man  should  choose  an  employment 
that  should  necessarily  and  always  interfere 
with  the  peace,  and  happiness,  and  morals, 
of  others,  it  would  at  once  break  up  the 
organization.  If  every  manufacturer  should 
erect  a  manufactory,  as  numerous  as  our 
distilleries  and  dram-shops,  that  should  neces- 
sarily blight  every  farm,  and  produce  sterility 
in  its  neighborhood,  every  farmer  would 


210  THE    SILVER    CUP 

regard  it  as  an  unlawful  employment ;  and 
if  pursued,  the  business  of  agriculture  would 
end.  If  a  physician  could  live  only  by  dif- 
fusing disease  and  death,  who  would  regard 
his  as  a  moral  employment  ?  If  a  mariner 
could  pursue  his  business  from  this  port  to 
Calcutta  or  Canton,  only  by  importing  the 
plague  in  every  return  voyage,  who  would 
deem  it  an  honorable  employment  ?  If  an 
apothecary  could  pursue  his  business  only  by 
killing  nine  persons  out  of  ten  of  those  with 
whom  he  had  dealing,  who  would  deem  it  a 
lawful  business  ?  If  a  man  can  get  a  living 
in  his  employment  only  by  fitting  out  a 
privateer  and  preying  upon  the  peaceful 
commerce  of  the  world,  who  will  deem  it  a 
lawful  employment  ?  If  a  man  lives  only  to 
make  a  descent  on  the  peaceful  abodes  of 
Africa,  and  to  tear  away  parents  from  their 
weeping  children,  and  husbands  from  their 
wives  and  homes,  where  is  the  man  that  will 
deem  this  a  moral  business  ?  And  why  not  ? 
Does  he  not  act  on  the  same-principle  as  the 
man  who  deals  in  ardent  spirits  —  a  desire 
to  make  money,  and  that  only  ?  The  truth 


OF    SPAKKL1NG    DHOPS.  211 

is,  that  in  all  these  cases  there  would  be  a 
violation  of  the  great  fundamental  law  on 
which  men  must  agree  to  live  together  in 
society  —  a  violation  of  that  great,  noble, 
and  benevolent  law  of  our  organization,  by 
which  an  honest  employment  interferes  with 
no  other,  but  may  tend  to  diffuse  blessings  in 
the  whole  circle  of  human  engagements. 
And  the  traffic  in  ardent  spirits  is  just  as 
much  a  violation  of  this  law,  as  in  any  of  the 
cases  specified. 

2.  —  Every  man  is  bound  to  pursue  such 
a  business  as  to  render  a  valuable  considerar 
tion  for  that  which  he  receives  from  others. 
A  man  who  receives  in  trade  the  avails  of 
the  industry  of  others,  is  under  obligation  to 
restore  that  which  will  be  of  real  value.  He 
receives  the  fruit  of  toil ;  he  receives  that 
which  is  of  value  to  himself ;  and  common 
equity  requires  that  he  return  a  valuable 
consideration.  Thus  the  merchant  renders 
to  the  farmer,  in  exchange  for  the  growth  of 
his  farm,  the  productions  of  other  climes  ; 
the  manufacturer,  that  which  is  needful  for 
the  clothing  or  comfort  of  the  agriculturist ; 


212  THE    SILVER    CUP 

the  physician,  the  result  of  his  professional 
skill.  All  these  are  valuable  considerations, 
which  are  fair  and  honorable  subjects  of  ex- 
change. They  are  a  mutual  accommodation ; 
they  advance  the  interest  of  both  parties. 
But  it  is  not  so  with  the  dealer  in  ardent 
spirits.  He  obtains  the  property  of  his 
fellow-men,  and  what  does  he  return  ?  That 
which  will  tend  to  promote  his  real  welfare  ? 
That  which  will  make  him  a  happier  man  ? 
That  which  will  benefit  his  family  ?  That 
which  diffuses  learning  and  domestic  comfort 
around  his  family  circle  ?  None  of  these 
things.  He  gives  him  that  which  will  pro- 
duce poverty,  and  want,  and  cursing,  and 
tears,  and  death.  He  asked  an  egg,  and  he 
receives  a  scorpion.  He  gives  him  that  which 
is  established  and  well  known  as  the  source 
of  no  good,  but  as  tending  to  produce  beg- 
gary and  wretchedness.  Now  if  this  were 
practised  in  any  other  business,  it  would  be 
open  fraud.  If  in  any  way  you  could  palm 
upon  a  farmer  that  which  is  not  only  worth- 
less, but  mischievous  —  that  which  would 
certainly  tend  to  ruin  him  and  his  family, 


OF    SPAEKLING    DROPS.  213 

could  there  be  any  doubt  about  the  nature 
of  this  employment  ?  It  makes  no  difference 
here,  that  the  man  supposes  that  it  is  for  his 
good  ;  or  that  he  applies  for  it.  You  know 
that  it  is  not  for  his  benefit,  and  you  know  — 
what  is  the  only  material  point  under  this 
head  —  that  it  will  tend  to  his  ruin.  What- 
ever he  may  think  about  it,  or  whatever  he 
may  desire,  you  are  well  advised  that  it  is  an 
article  that  will  tend  to  sap  the  foundation 
of  his  morals  and  happiness,  and  conduce  to 
the  ruin  of  ^his  estate,  and  his  body,  and  his 
soul ;  and  you  know,  therefore,  that  you  are 
not  rendering  him  any  really  valuable  consid- 
eration for  his  property.  The  dealer  may 
look  on  his  gains  in  this  matter  —  on  his 
houses,  or  mortgages,  or  lands,  obtained  as 
the  result  of  this  business  —  with  something 
like  these  reflections : 

"  This  property  has  been  gained  from  other 
men.  It  was  theirs,  honestly  acquired,  and 
was  necessary  to  promote  their  own  happi- 
ness and  the  happiness  of  their  families.  It 
has  become  mine  by  a  traffic  which  has  not 
only  taken  it  away  from  them,  but  which 


214  THE    SILVEK    CUP 

has  ruined  their  peace,  corrupted  their  mor- 
als, sent  woe  and  discord  into  their  families, 
and  consigned  them,  perhaps,  to  an  early  and 
most  loathsome  grave.  This  property  has 
come  from  the  hard  earnings  of  other  men  ; 
has  passed  into  my  hands  without  any  valu- 
able compensation  rendered ;  but  has  been 
obtained  only  while  I  have  been  diffusing 
want,  and  woe,  and  death,  through  then 
abodes." 

Let  the  men  engaged  in  this  traffic  look 
on  their  property  thus  gained  ;  let  them 
survey  the  woe  which  has  attended  it ;  and 
then  ask,  as  honest  men,  whether  it  is  a 
moral  employment. 

3.  —  A  man  is  bound  to  pursue  such  a 
business  as  shall  tend  to  promote  tlie  welfare 
of  the  whole  community.  This  traffic  does 
not.  We  have  seen  that  an  honorable  and 
lawful  employment  conduces  to  the  welfare 
of  the  whole  social  organization.  But  the 
welfare  of  the  whole  cannot  be  promoted  by 
this  traffic/  Somewhere  it  must  produce 
poverty,  and  idleness,  and  crime.  Even 
granting,  what  can  not  be  established,  that  it 


OF    SPARKLING    D~R  0  P  S  . 

may  promote  the  happiness  of  a  particular 
portion  of  the  community,  yet  it  must  be  at 
the  expense  of  some  other  portion.  You 
may  export  poison  to  Georgia,  and  the  imme- 
diate effect  may  be  to  introduce  money  into 
Philadelphia,  but  the  only  important  enquiry 
is,  what  will  be  the  effect  on  the  whole  body 
politic  ?  Will  it  do  more  good  than  evil  on 
the  whole  ?  Will  the  money  which  you 
may  receive  here,  be  a  compensation  for  all 
the  evil  which  will  be  done  there  ?  Money 
a  compensation  for  intemperance,  and  idle- 
ness, and  crime,  and  the  loss  of  the  health, 
the  happiness,  and  the  souls  of  men  ! 

Now  we  may  easily  determine  this  matter. 
The  article  thus  exported  will  do  as  much 
evil  there  as  it  would  if  consumed  here.  It 
will  spread  just  as  much  devastation  some- 
where, as  it  would  if  consumed  in  your  own 
family,  and  among  your  own  friends  and 
neighbors.  We  have  only  to  ask,  what 
would  be  the  effect  if  it  were  consumed  in 
your  own  habitation,  in  your  neighborhood, 
in  your  own  city  ?  Let  all  this  poison  which 
is  thus  exported,  to  spread  woes  and  death 


TSE    SILVER    CTJP 

somewliere,  be  concentrated  and  consumed 
where  you  might  see  it,  and  is  there  any 
man  who  will  pretend  that  the  paltry  sum 
which  he  receives  is  a  compensation  for  what 
he  knows  would  be  the  effect  of  the  consump- 
tion 1  You  keep  your  own  atmosphere  pure 
it  may  be,  but  you  export  the  pestilence,  and 
curses,  and  lamentation  elsewhere,  and  receive 
a  compensation  for  it.  You  sell  disease,  and 
death,  and  poverty,  and  nakedness,  and  tears 
to  other  families,  to  clothe  and  feed  your 
own.  And  as  the  result  of  this  current  of 
moral  poison,  and  pollution,  which  you  may 
cause  to  flow  into  hundreds  of  other  families, 
you  may  point  to  a  splendid  palace,  or  to 
gay  apparel  of  your  sons  and  daughters,  and 
proclaim  that  the  evil  is  hidden  from  your 
eyes.  Families,  and  neighborhoods,  and 
states  may  groan  and  bleed  somewhere,  and 
thousands  may  die,  but  your  gain  is  to  be  a 
compensation  for  it  all.  Is  this  an  honorable 
traffic  ? 

Suppose  a  man  were  to  advertise  consump- 
tions, and  fevers,  and  pleurisies,  and  leprosy, 
for  gold,  and  could  and  would  sell  them ; 


-OF    SPARKLING    DROPS.          21? 

what  Would  the  community  say  to  such  a 
traffic  ?  Suppose,  for  gain,  he  could  trans- 
port them  to  distant  places,  and  now  strike 
-down,  by  a  secret  power,  a  family  in  Maine, 
and  now  at  St.  Mary's,  and  now  at  Texas, 
and  now  at  St.  Louis  ;  what  would  the  com- 
munity think  of  wealth  gained  in  such  a 
traffic  ?  Suppose  he  could,  with  the  same 
^ease,  diffuse  profaneness,  and  insanity,  and 
robberies,  and  murders,  and  suicides,  and 
should  advertise  all  these  to  be  propagated 
through  the  land,  and  could  prevail  on  'men 
to  buy  the  talisrnanic  nostrum  for  gold  — 
what  would  the  community  think  of  such  a 
traffic  as  this  ?  True,  he  might  plead  that  it 
brought  a  vast  influx  of  money  —  that  it  en- 
riched the  city,  or  the  country  —  that  the 
'effects  were  not  seen  there  ;  but  what  would 
be  the  public  estimate  of  a  man  who  would 
be  willing  to  engage  in  such  a  traffic,  and 
who  would  set  up  such  a  plea  ?  Or  suppose 
it  were  understood  that  a  farmer  from  the 
interior  had  arrived  in  Philadelphia  with  a 
load  of  flour,  nine-tenths  of  whose  barrels 
contained  a  mixture,  more  or  less,  of  arsenic^ 
10 


218  THE    SILVER    CTTF 

and  should  offer  them  for  sale  ;  what  would 
be  the  feelings  of  this  community  at  such  & 
traffic?  Time,  the  man  might  plead  that  it 
would  produce  gain  to  his  countiy  ;  that 
they  had  taken  care  to  remove  it  to  another 
population  ;  that  his  own  family  was  secure; 
Can  any  words  express  the  indignation  which 
would  be  felt  ?  Can  any  thing  express  the 
horror  which  all  men  would  feel  at  such  a 
transaction  as  this,  and  at  the  cold-blooded 
and  inhuman  guilt  of  the  money-loving 
farmer  ?  And  yet,  we  witness  a  thing  like 
this  eveiy  day,  on  our  wharves,  and  in  our 
ships,  and  our  groceries,  and  our  inns,  and 
from  our  men  of  wealth,  and  our  moral  men, 
and  our  professed  Christians  —  and  a  horror 
comes  through  the  souls  of  men,  when  we* 
dare  to  intimate  that  this  is  an  immoral 
business ! 

4.  —  A  man  is  bound  to  pursue  such  a 
course  of  life  as  not  necessarily  to  increase 
tlie  burdens  and  the  taxes  of  the  community. 
The  pauperism  and  crimes  of  this  land  grow 
out  of  this  vice,  as  an  overflowing  fountain. 
Three-fourths  of  the  taxes  for  prisons,  and 


OF    SPARKLIKG    DttOPS.  219 

houses  of  refuge,  and  alms-houses,  would  be 
cut  off,  but  for  this  traffic,  and  the  attendant 
vices.  Nine-tenths  of  the  crimes  of  the 
countiy,  and  of  the  expenses  of  litigation  for 
crime,  would  be  prevented  by  arresting  it. 
Of  653  who  were  in  one  year  committed  to 
the  house  of  correction  in  Boston,  453  were 
drunkards.  Of  3,000  persons  admitted  to 
the  work-house  in  Salem,  Massachusetts,  2,900 
were  brought  there,  directly  or  indirectly,  by 
intemperance.  Of  592  male  adults  in  the 
alms-house  in  New  York,  not  20,  says  the 
Superintendent,  can  be  called  sober  ;  and  of 
601  women,  not  as  many  as  50.  Only  three 
instances  of  murder,  in  the  space  of  fifteen 
years,  in  New  York,  occurred,  that  could  not 
be  traced  to  ardent  spirit  as  the  cause.  In 
Philadelphia  ten.  This  is  the  legitimate 
regular  effect  of  the  business.  It  tends  to 
poverty,  crime,  and  woe  —  and  greatly  to 
increase  the  taxes  and  burdens  of  the  com- 
munity. 

What  is  done,  then,  in  this  traffic  ?  You 
are  filling  our  alms-houses,  and  jails,  and 
penitentiaries,  with  victims,  loathsome  and 


220  THE    SILVER    CTTP 

burdensome  to  the  community.  You  are 
engaged  in  a  business  which  is  compelling 
your  fellow-citizens  to  pay  taxes  to  support 
the  victims  of  your  employment.  You  are 
filling  up  those  abodes  of  wretchedness  and 
guilt,  and  then  asking  your  fellow-citizens  to 
pay  enormous  taxes,  indirectly  to  support 
this  traffic.  For,  if  every  place  where  ardent 
spirits  can  be  obtained,  were  closed  in  this 
city  and  its  suburbs,  how  long  might  your 
splendid  palaces  for  the  poor  be  almost  un- 
tenanted  piles  !  How  soon  would  your  jails 
disgorge  their  inmates,  and  be  no  more  filled  ! 
How  soon  would  the  habitations  of  guilt  and 
infamy,  in  every  city,  become  the  abodes  of 
contentment  and  peace  !  And  how  soon 
would  reeling  loathsomeness  and  want  cease 
to  assail  your  doors  with  importunate  plead- 
ings for  charity  ! 

Now  we  have  only  to  ask  our  fellow-citi- 
zens, what  right  they  have  to  pursue  an 
employment  tending  thus  to  burden  the 
community  with  taxes,  and  to  endanger  the 
dwellings  of  their  fellow-men,  and  to  send  to 
my  door,  and  to  every  other  man's  door, 


OF    SPARKLING    DROPS.  221 

hordes  of  beggar's,  loathsome  to  the  sight, 
or  to  compel  the  virtuous  to  seek  out  their 
wives  and  children,  amidst  the  squalidness  of 
poverty,  and  the  cold  of  winter,  and  the 
pinchings  of  hunger,  to  supply  their  wants  ? 
Could  impartial  justice  be  done  in  the  world, 
an  end  would  soon  be  put  to  the  traffic  in 
ardent  spirits.  Were  every  man  bound  to 
alleviate  all  the  wretchedness  which  his  busi- 
ness creates,  to  support  all  the  poor  which 
his  traffic  causes,  an  end  would  soon  be  made 
of  this  employment.  But,  alas  !  you  can  dif- 
fuse this  poison  for  gain,  and  then  call  on 
your  industrious  and  virtuous  countrymen  to 
alleviate  the  wretchedness,  to  tax  themselves 
to  build  granite  prisons  for  the  inmates 
which  your  business  has  made  ;  and  splendid 
palaces,  at  an  enormous  expense,  to  extend  a 
shelter  and  a  home  for  those  whom  your  em- 
ployment has  turned  from  their  own  habita- 
tions !  Is  this  a  moral  employment  ?  Would 
it  be  well  to  obtain  a  living  in  this  way  in 
any  other  business  ? 

5.  —  The  business  is  inconsistent  witli  the 
law  of  God,  which  requires  us  to  love  our 


222  THE    SILVER    CUP 

neighbor  as  ourselves.  A  sufficient  proof  of 
this  would  be  a  fact  which  no  one  could 
deny,  that  no  man  yet,  probably,  ever  under- 
took the  business,  or  pursued  it  from  that 
motive.  Its  defense  is  not,  and  can  not,  be 
put  on  that  ground.  No  man  in  the  commu- 
nity believes  that  a  continuance  in  it  is  re- 
quired by  a  regard  to  the  welfare  of  his 
neighbor.  Every  one  knows  that  his  welfare 
does  not  require  it ;  and  that  it  would  be 
conferring  an  inestimable  blessing  on  other 
men,  if  the  traffic  was  abandoned.  The  sin- 
gle, sole  object  is  gain  ;  and  the  sole  question 
is,  whether  the  love  of  gain  is  a  sufficient 
motive  for  continuing  that  which  works  no 
good,  but  constant  ill  to  your  neighbor. 

There  is  another  law  of  God  which  has  an 
important  bearing  on  this  subject.  It  is  that 
golden  rule  of  the  New  Testament,  which 
commends  itself  to  the  conscience  of  all  men, 
to  do  to  others  as  you  would  wish  them  to 
do  to  you.  You  may  easily  conceive  of  your 
having  a  son,  who  was  in  danger  of  becom- 
ing a  drunkard.  Your  hope  might  center  in 
him.  He  might  be  the  stay  of  your  age. 


OF    SPARKLING    DROPS.  223 

41x*  may  be  inclined  to  dissipation  ;  and  it 
snay  have  required  all  your  vigilance,  and 
prayers,  and  tears,  and  authority,  to  keep  him 
in  the  ways  of  soberness.  The  simple  ques- 
tion now  is,  what  would  you  wish  a  neighbor 
to  do  in  such  a  case  ?  Would  it  be  the  de- 
sire of  your  heart,  that  he  should  open  a 
fountain  of  poison  at  your  next  door ;  that 
he  should,  for  gain,  be  willing  to  put  a  cup 
into  the  hands  of  your  son,  and  entice  him 
to  the  ways  of  intemperance  ?  Would  you 
-be  pleased  if  he  would  listen  to  no  remon- 
strance of  yours,  if  he  should  even  disregard 
your  entreaties  and  your  tears,  and  coolly 
see,  for  the  love  of  gold,  ruin  coming  into 
your  family,  and  your  prop  taken  from  be- 
neath you,  and  your  gray  hail's  coming  down 
with  sorrow  to  the  grave  ?  And  yet,  to 
many  such  a  son  may  you  sell  the  poison  ;  to 
many  a  father,  whose  children  are  clothed  in 
rags  ;  to  many  a  man,  whose  wife  sits  weep- 
ing amidst  poverty  and  want,  and  dreading 
to  hear  the  tread  and  the  voice  of  the  hus- 
band of  her  youth,  once  her  protector,  who 
now  eomes  to  convert  his  own  habitation  into 


224  THE    SILVER    C  U  F 

a  hell.  And  there  are  not  a  few  men  of  fmk 
standing  in  society  who  are  engaged  in  this  ; 
and  not  a  few  —  oh!  tell  it  not  in  Gath  — 
who  claim  the  honored  name  of  Christian, 
and  who  profess  to  bear  the  image  of  Him 
who  went  about  doing  good.  Can  such  be  a, 
moral  business  ? 

6.  —  The  traffic  is  a  violation  of  that  law* 
wliich  requires  a  man  to  honor  God.  Whether 
ye  eat,  or  drink,  or  whatsoever  ye  do,  do  all 
to  the  glory  of  God.  And  yet,  is  this  a 
business  which  was  ever  engaged  in,  or  ever 
pursued,  with  a  desire  to  honor  God  ?  Is  it 
an  employment  over  which  a  man  will  pray  ? 
Can  he  ask  the  God  of  heaven  to  give  him, 
success  ?  Let  him  then,  in  imagination,  fol- 
low what  he  sells,  to  its  direct  result ;  let 
him  attend  it  to  its  final  distribution  of 
poverty,  and  woes,  and  crimes,  and  death, 
and  then  kneel  before  heaven's  eternal  King,, 
and  render  thanksgiving  for  this  success ! 
Alas  !  it  can  not  be.  Man  pursues  it,  not; 
from  a  desire  to  honor  God.  And  can  the 
man  who  is  engaged  in  a  business  on  which; 
he  can  not  implore  the-  blessing  of  Heaven  £ 


OF    SPARKLING    DROPS.  225 

who  is  obliged  to  conceal  all  thoughts  of  it 
if  he  ever  prays  ;  who  never  engaged  in  it 
with  a  desire  to  glorify  God,  or  meet  his 
approbation  —  can  he  be  engaged  in  a  busi- 
ness which  is  lawful  and  right  ? 

I  might  dwell  further  on  these  points. 
But  I  am  now  prepared  to  ask,  with  empha- 
sis, whether  an  employment  that  has  been 
attended  with  so  many  ills  to  the  bodies  and 
souls  of  men  ;  with  so  much  woe  and  crime  ; 
whose  results  are  evil,  and  only  evil  contin- 
ually ;  an  employment  which  cannot  be  pur- 
sued without  tending  to  destroy  the  very 
purposes  of  the  organization  of  society ; 
without  violating  the  rule  which  requires  us 
to  render  a  valuable  consideration  in  busi- 
ness ;  without  violating  the  rule  which  re- 
quires a  man  to  promote  the  welfare  of  the 
whole  of  the  community;  which  promotes 
pauperism  and  crime,  and  imposes  heavy 
burdens  on  your  fellow-citizens ;  which  is 
opposed  equally  to  the  love  of  man  and  the 
law  of  God  —  whether  this  is  a  moral,  or  cm 
immoral  employment  ? 

The  question  is  submitted.  If  moral,  it 
10* 


226  THE    SILVEK    CUP 

should  be  driven  on  with  all  the  power  of 
American  energy ;  with  all  the  aids  of 
wealth,  and  all  the  might  of  steam,  and  all 
the  facilities  of  rail  roads  and  canals  ;  for 
our  country  and  the  Church  calls  the  man  to 
the  honorable  employment  ?  But  if  it  be 
immoral  and  wrong,  it  should  be  abandoned 
on  the  spot.  Not  another  gallon  should  ever 
pass  from  your  store,  if  it  be  evil,  only  evil, 
and  that  continually. 


Where  does  the  water  spring,  gladsome  and  bright? 

Here  in  the  leafy  grove, 

Bubbling  in  life  and  love, 
Born  of  the  sunshine,  up-leaping  to  light, 

Waked  in  its  pebbly  bed, 

When  the  still  shadows  fled, 
Gushing,  o'erflowing,  down-tumbling,  for  flight. 

Where  does  the  water  flow?  where  glides  the  rill? 
Now  'neath  the  forest  shade, 
Then  in  the  grassy  glade, 


Otf    SPARKLING    DROPS.         227 

^Dancing  as  freely  as  child  of  the  hill. 

Bright  cascades  leaping, 

Silver  brooks  creeping, 
^Wearing  the  mountains,  and  turning  the  mill. 

"Where  does  the  water  dwell  powerful  and  grand-? 

Here  where  the  ocean  foam 

Breaks  in  his  rock-ribbed  home, 
Dashing,  land-lashing,  up-bounding,  wrath-spanned^; 

Anon,  sweetly  sleeping, 

Soft  dimples  o'er-creeping, 
iLike  a  babe  on  its  mother's  breast,  soothed  by  her  hand. 

"Where  smiles  the  dew-drop  the  night-shadows  woo? 

Where  the  young  flowrets  dip, 

Laving  each  perfumed  lip; 
'Close  in  the  rose's  heart,  loving  and  true; 

Poised  on  an  emerald  shaft, 

Where  never  sunbeam  laughed, 
Deep  in  the  dingle  —  the  beautiful  dew! 

"Where  glows  the  water  pledge,  given  of  old? 

'Tis  dropped  down  from  God's  throne, 

When  the  shower  is  gone, 
A  chain  of  pure  gems,  linked  with  purple  and  gold; 

In  Eden  hues  blushing, 

With  infinity  gushing, 
A  line  from  the  Book  of  Life,  its  lore  half  untold. 

The  bright  bow  of  promise;  the  signet  of  power; 
The  crown  of  the  sky; 
The  pathway  on  high, 


228  tHE    SILVER    CtTF 

Whence  angels  bend  to  usy  when  darksome  clouds  Iow3r  $ 

Breathing  so  silently, 

Kindly  and  truthfully  — 
Oh !  then*  wings  for  a  shield,  in  the  wrath-bearing  hour! 

Then  we'll  love  the  threads  lacing  our  beautiful  world,, 

Tangling  the  sunbeams, 

Laughing  in  glorious  gleams; 
I'he  wavelets  all  dimpled,  and  spray-tresses  curled: 

The  tear  on  the  flower's  breast; 

The  gem  in  the  ocean's  crest; 
And  the  ladder  of  angels,  by  rain-drops  impearlecL 


/mi  unb  last 


"Pray  for  me,  Mother!  pray  that  no  blight 
May  come  on  my  hopes  and  prospects  bright; 
Pray  that  my  days  may  be  long  and  fair  — 
Free  from  the  cankering  touch  of  care; 
Pray  that  the  laurels  I  grasp  at  now 
May  live  ere  long  around  my  brow; 
And  pray  that  my  gentle  lady  love 
May  be  fond  as  the  nightingale,  true  as  the  dove." 

The  mother  knelt  by  her  own  hearth  stone, 
With  her  hand  on  the  head  of  her  only  son; 


OF    SPAIIKMXO    DP.  OPS.  229 

And  lifting  up  her  glistening  eye, 
Prayed  for  all  blessings  fervently; 
And  then  she  took  one  lock  of  hair 
From  his  manly  forehead,  smooth  and  fair, 
And  he  kissed  her  cheek,  and  left  her  side 
With  a  bounding  step,  and  a  smile  of  pride. 

"Pray  for  me  mother!  pray,  that  ere  long 
My  soul  may  be  free  as  a  wild  bird's  song, 
That  away  on  the  wings  of  the  wind  is  driven, 
And  goes  to  rest  with  them  in  heaven: 
Pray  for  it,  mother! — nay,  do  not  weep! 
Thou  wast  want  to  bless  my  infant  sleep; 
And  bless  me  now  with  thy  gentle  breath, 
Ere  I  sink  away  in  the  sleep  of  death." 

The  mother  knelt  by  his  side  again  — 
Oh!  her  first  prayer  had  been  all  in  vain  ! 
His  lady  love  had  been  false  to  him  — 
His  fame  in  slander's  breath  was  dim; 
She  looked  on  his  altered  cheek  and  eye, 
And  she  felt 't  was  best  that  he  should  die ! 
Then  she  prayed  for  his  death,  in  his  fond  despair, 
And  his  soul  passed  away  with  that  last  wild  prayer ! 


230  THE    SILVEtt    CUP 


ttttjje  Urigjit 


Look  at  the  bright  side!     The  sun's  golden  rays 

All  nature  illumine,  and  the  heart  of  man  cheereth; 

Why  wilt  thou  turn  so  perversely  to  gaze 

On  that  dark  cloud  which  now  in  the  distance  appeareth  ! 

Look  at  the  bright  side!     Recount  all  thy  joys; 

Speak  of  the  mercies  which  richly  surround  thee, 
Muse  not  for  ever  on  that  which  annoys: 

Shut  not  thine  eyes  to  the  beauties  around  thee. 

Look  at  the  bright  side!  Mankind,  it  is  true, 

Have  their  failings,  nor  should  they  be  spoken  of  lightly  ; 

But  why  on  their  faults  concentrate  thy  view, 

Forgetting  their  virtues  which  shine  forth  so  brightly  ? 

Look  at  the  bright  side!  And  it  shall  impart 

Sweet  peace,  and  contentment,  and  grateful  emotion, 

Reflecting  its  own  brilliant  lines  on  thy  heart, 

As  the  sunbeams  that  mirror  themselves  in  the  ocean. 

Look  at  the  bright  side!     Nor  yield  to  despair: 
If  some  friends  forsake,  yet  others  still  love  thee; 

And  when  the  world  seems  mournful  colors  to  wear, 
Oh,  look  from  the  dark  earth  to  heaven  above  thee. 


OF    SPARKLING    DROPS.  231 


BY   MAKTIX  F.  TUPPEB, 

No  lovely  thing  on  earth  can  picture  all  their  beauty; 
They  be  pearls  flung  on  the  rocks  by  the  sullen  waters 

of  Oblivion, 
Which  Dilligence  loveth  to  gather  and  hang  around  the 

neck  of  Memory; 
They  be  white-winged  seeds  of  happiness,  wafted  from 

the  islands  of  the  blest, 
Which  Thought  carefully  tendeth,  in  the  kindly  garden 

of  the  heart: 
They  be  drops  of  the  crystal  dew,  which  the  wings  of 

seraphs  scatter, 
When  on    some    brighter  Sabbath,  their    plumes  quiver 

most  with  delight. 
Life-giving  be  they  and  glorious,  redolent  of  sanctity  and 

heaven : 
As  the  fumes  of  hallowed  incense,  that  veil  the  throne 

of  the  Most  High; 
A.S  the  beaded    bubbles  that  sparkle  on  the  rim  of  the 

cup  of  Immortality: 
ALS  wreaths  of  the  rainbow-spray,  from  the  pure  cataracts 

of  Truth: 
Juch,  and  so  precious,  are  the  words  which  the  lips  of 

Wisdom  utter. 


232  THE    SILVER    CUP 


t 


LOUD  blew  the  wind  in  the  dreary  month 
of  November,  when  a  large  party  were  as- 
sembled around  a  glowing  fire  in  the  hospi- 
table mansion  of  Dr.  D  -  — ,  late  resident 

physician  of  the  Lunatic  Asylum. 

Music  and  dancing  were  laid  aside,  and  all 
eyes  were  bent,  in  eager  expectation,  on  the 
doctor,  who  held  in  his  hand  a  book  contain- 
ing several  lovely  portraits. 

"Did  you  indeed  know  the  original  of 
this  ?  "  exclaimed  one  of  the  group,  pointing 
to  a  beautiful  girl,  apparently  about  eighteen, 
splendidly  attired  in  a  robe  of  white  satin, 
ornamented  with  pearls  and  orange  flowers  ; 
"  but  how  strange  that  black  crape  veil  looks 
over  that  elegant  wreath  ! " 

"  Yes,  my  dear  girl,  I  knew  her  well,  and 
hers,  alas  !  is  a  sad,  sad  tale  ;  and  now  I 
recollect,  it  was  twenty  years  ago  this  very 
day  that  I  first  became  acquainted  with  her." 


OF    SPARKLING    DROPS.  233 

"Pray  tell  us  how,  dear  Dr.  D-  — ," 
exclaimed  a  half  dozen  voices  at  once.  And 
thus  petitioned,  he  began  : 

"  Well,  then,  it  is  just  twenty  years  ago 
this  very  evening  that  I  was  aroused  from  a 
gentle  slumber,  into  which  I  had  fallen  in 
my  easy  chair,  by  the  entrance  of  a  servant 
with  a  note,  which  merely  contained  these 
words  :  '  Dr.  D  -  —  is  entreated  to  lose  no 

time  in  hastening  to  the Inn,  to  meet  a 

patient   destined  to  the  Asylum,  but 

who  is  now  too  ill  to  proceed  unless  it  be 
under  his  care.'  This  inn  was  about  sixteen 
miles  from  my  residence,  situated  on  a  dreaiy 
moor  many  miles  in  extent,  to  reach  which  I 
should  have  to  traverse  a  most  unfrequented 
road.  It  was,  therefore,  in  no  good  humor 
that  I  proceeded  to  do  the  bidding  of  the 
unknown  writer ;  for  in  his  haste  (the  note 
had  evidently  been  written  hurriedly)  he  had 
forgotten  to  add  his  signature.  The  rain 
was  descending  in  torrents,  and  the  wind 
howled  fearfully  ;  indeed,  so  terrific  was  the 
storm  that,  at  first,  my  horses  refused  to 
brave  it,  but  by  dint  of  spurring  and  flogging 


234  THE    SILVER    CUP 

we  at  last  set  off.  Faster  and  faster  fell  the 
rain,  higher  and  higher  rose  the  tempest,  yet 
still  we  journeyed  on ;  when  suddenly  the 
progress  of  the  carriage  was  arrested,  and 
the  postilion  informed  me  that  the  lights 
were  out,  and  he  could  not  see  a  step.  What 
was  to  be .  done  ?  To  return  was  useless, 
especially,  as  with  the  numerous  cross-roads 
by  which  our  path  would  be  intersected,  it 
would  scarcely  be  possible  in  the  dark  to 
take  the  right  one  ;  and  there  we  were,  on 
the  borders  of  a  wide  common,  without  a 
light  or  guide,  and  my  servant  totally  igno- 
rant of  the  country,  having  been  in  my 
service  only  a  few  weeks. 

"'You  must  trust  to  the  horses,'  I  ex- 
claimed ;  '  I  remember  I  baited  them  at  this 
inn  once,  though  it  is  now  a  long  time  since.' 

"  Slowly,  and  step  by  step,  we  proceeded  ; 
now  splashing  through  what  were  once  rivu- 
lets, or,  at  least,  but  brawling  brooks,  but 
which  the  floods  had  swollen  into  torrents  ; 
then  coming  in  contact  with  branches  of 
trees,  which  the  blast  had  riven,  for  the 
storm  still  raged  with  unabated  fury,  and  it 


OF    SPARKLING    DROPS.  235 

must  have  been  past  midnight  when  my  ser- 
vant descried  a  light  in  the  distance.  '  Make 
for  it,'  was  my  order,  and,  with  what  haste 
he  could,  he  obeyed.  The  light,  which  was 
at  first  very  faint,  gradually  became  more  dis- 
tinct, and  at  last  we  discovered  ourselves 
near  a  cottage,  which  my  recollection  told  me 
was  about  five  miles  from  my  destination. 
As  we  drew  near,  a  sudden  thought  darted 
across  my  mind  —  had  not  dark  tales  of 
darker  doings  reached  me  about  this  very 
dwelling  ?  I  would  fain  have  passed,  but 
procure  a  light  we  must ;  there  was,  now,  no 
help  for  it,  and  I  bade  my  servant  arouse  the 
inmates.  A  few  knocks,  and  a  man's  voice 
gruffly  asked  : 

"  '  Who 's  there  ? ' 

" '  Dr.  D ,'  I  replied,  thinking  it  bet- 
ter at  once  to  let  them  know  who  I  was  :  '  I 
am  on  my  way  to  a  patient,  and  if  you  will 
give  my  servant  a  light,  I  shall  be  obliged  to 
you,  as  my  lamps  are  gone  out.' 

" c  A  light  was  soon  procured,  and  he  bade 
us  a  surly  c  Good  night,'  but  not  before  I  had 
discerned  the  sturdy  figures  of  two  or  three 


236  THE    SILVEK    C  UJP 

ill-looking  fellows  peering  at  me  through  the 
half-open  door.  Great  caution  was  necessary 
in  crossing  the  heath,  for,  even  by  daylight,  it 
was  dangerous  to  do  so  ;  and  slowly  we  pro- 
ceeded on  our  dreary  way.  Unwilling  to 
alarm  my  servant,  yet  feeling  how  necessaiy 
it  was  for  him  to  be  on  his  guard,  I  was  just 
about  to  bid  him  keep  a  good  look-out,  when, 
amid  the  howling  of  the  storm  I  heard  a 
faint  whistle,  and,  in  a  few  seconds,  I  fancied 
it  was  returned.  4  Report,  then,  has  not 
wronged  these  villians,'  I  mentally  exclaimed, 
and  my  first  step  was  to  order  the  postilion 
to  drive  for  his  life,  my  next  to  bethink  me  of 
some  weapon  of  defense.  I  had  none,  but  a 
case  of  surgical  instruments,  which,  by  mere 
chance,  I  happened  to  have  about  me  ;  but 
what  were  these  against  well-armed  ruffians  ? 
At  that  instant  the  horses  were  suddenly 
seized,  the  postilion  knocked  off,  and  two 
men  presented  themselves  with  loaded  pistols 
at  each  door  of  the  carriage.  Resistance,  I 
saw  at  a  glance,  would  be  useless  —  nay, 
madness  ;  and  I  felt  the  necessity  of  obeying 
their  command  to  deliver  up  my-  purse,  when 


OF    SPARKLING    DROPS.  237 

the  tramp  of  horses'  feet  was  heard,  and  the 
sound  of  voices  reached  us  ;  nearer  and 
nearer  they  came  ;  and  my  assailants,  fearful, 
(for  conscience  makes  cowards  of  us  all,)  hur- 
ried off,  and  left  me  at  the  mercy  of  the  new 
comers.  Fortunately,  they  proved  to  be  two 
persons  sent  from  the  inn  to  expedite  my  ar- 
rival, as,  from  the  delay,  they  feared  that 
some  accident  had  occurred,  or  that  I  had 
lost  my  way.  Under  their  guidance  I  soon 
reached  the  inn,  and  was  met  at  the  door  by 
a  venerable  old  man,  whose  silver  locks 
floated  in  the  cold  night  wind,  and  whose 
furrowed  cheek  was  coursed  by  many  a  tear. 
" '  My  child  !  oh  !  save  my  child  ! '  broke 
from  his  trembling  lips,  as,  with  a  convulsive 
grasp,  he  seized  my  hand,  and  hurrying  me 
into  the  house,  threw  open  the  door  of  a 
small  room,- where,  reclining  on  a  sofa,  was  a 
being  beautiful  as  thought.  Her  jet-black 
tresses  were  scattered  in  rich  profusion  over 
the  humble  pillow  which  supported  her 
death-like  form  ;  and,  though  the  pallor  of 
death  cast  its  marble  hue  over  her  counte- 
nance, nought  could  surpass  its  loveliness. 


238  THE    SILVER    CTTP 

" '  Save  !  oil !  save  my  child  ! '  again  and 
again  groaned  the  old  man,  4  and  I  will  bless 
you  ;  give  me  back  my  loved,  my  only  one.' 

"  But  there  she  lay,  motionless  and  appa 
rently  lifeless  ;  and,  in  answer  to  my  queries, 
I  learned  that  she  had  been  in  that  state  for 
nearly  twelve  hours.  At  first,  they  thought 
she  had  fainted,  but,  as  the  usual  remedies 
had  been  resorted  to  without  effect,  it  was 
deemed  desirable  to  send  for  me.  An  elderly 
female  attendant,  who  replied  to  my  ques- 
tions, watched  with  great  anxiety  my  counte- 
nance, as  I  examined  the  pulse  of  my  patient, 
and,  by  a  sign,  gave  me  to  understand  that 
she  had  some  thing  to  communicate.  An 
opportunity  soon  presented  itself,  and  she  in- 
formed me  with  great  emotion  that  the  mind 
of  her  young  lady  was  affected.  '  Yet,  he 
can  not  believe  it,'  she  said,  c  and  it  is  only 
through  the  solicitations  of  his  friends,  and 
at  the  earnest  request  of  her  medical  atten- 
dants, that  her  father  has  consented  to  her 
being  removed  from  home.  Every  doctor  in 
London,  of  any  skill,  has  been  consulted, 
and  all  say  that  the  Asylum  is  the 


OF    SPARKLING    DROPS.          239 

only  place  for  her.  It  lias  cost  my  master 
many  thousands,  and  I  'm  sure  he  would  not 
mind  as  many  more  could  Miss  Lucy  —  I 
mean  Mrs.  Ventnor  —  recover.' 

" '  Mrs.  Ventnor  ! '  I  exclaimed,  '  surely  she 
is  not  married !  so  young,  too  ;  poor  girl ! ' 

"  i  Yes,  sir,'  said  the  old  nurse,  '  she  is  very 
young,  hardly  nineteen ;  and  she  was  not 
eighteen  when  she  was  married.' 

"'But  how  came  this  dreadful  calamity 
to  befall  her  ? '  I  asked  ;  '  not  ill-treatment,  I 
hope?' 

"  '  Oh,  no  !  doctor,  for  he  loved  the  ground 
she  walked  on  ;  but  he  died  suddenly  the 
day  they  were  married,  and  her  brain  has 
been  turned  ever  since.' 

"  Here  our  conversation  was  interrupted 
by  the  frequent  repetition  of  my  name,  and 
I  hastened  to  return  to  the  room  from  which 
I  had  heard  it.  I  soon  perceived  the  cause 
of  the  summons,  in  the  altered  appearance 
of  my  patient.  A  slight  flush  tinged  her 
cheek,  and  she  sighed  heavily ;  and  though 
no  ray  of  intelligence  beamed  from  the 
half-open  eye,  still  any  change  was  better 


240  THE    SILVER    CUP 

than  the  lethargic  state  in  which  she  had 
so  long  lain. 

" 4  She  lives  !  she  breathes  ! '  exclaimed  the 
doatirig  father.  '  Lucy,  my  hope,  my  pride, 
the  solace  "of  my  old  age,  speak  to  me  one 
word,  only  one,  to  bless  and  cheer  me  ! '  and 
the  old  man  sank  on  his  knees  and  sobbed 
like  a  child. 

"  After  a  short  interval,  I  considered  it  ad- 
visable that  the  invalid  should  reach  her 
resting  place  as  soon  as  possible,  and,  accord- 
ingly, we  commenced  our  journey  home- 
ward. Pitying  the  distress  of  Mr.  Beverton, 
I  requested  him  to  become  my  guest  for  a 
few  days,  until  he  had,  in  some  little  measure, 
overcome  his  reluctance  to  leave  his  daughter 
with  strangers.  For  the  first  few  days,  Lucy 
lay  in  an  unconscious  state,  heeding  nothing, 
and  seemingly  ignorant  of  any  change  in  the 
persons  or  things  about  her  ;  but  by  degrees, 
her  accustomed  wildness  of  manner  returned, 
and  on  paying  my  usual  morning  visit,  I  one 
day  found  her  arrayed  exactly  as  described 
in  this  portrait,  with  a  cheek  as  hueless  as 
the  flowei*s  that  bound  her  raven  hair.  A 


OF    SPARKLING    DROPS.          -241 

White  satin  robe  fell  in  massy  folds  around 
-her  perfect  figure.  It  was  her  bridal  dress  ; 
and  yet,  as  if,  even  in  her  madness,  a  gleam 
-of  the  sad  truth  had  burst  forth,  she  had 
thrown  a  widow's  veil  over  her  wreath  of 
orange  flowers. 

"  '  See,  see  ! '  she  whispered  in  a  mysterious 
manner,  '  this  is  my  wedding-day,  and  this,,' 
-extending  her  delicate  finger  on  which  she 
wore  a  plain  wedding-ring,  '  is  his  gift  ;  my 
own  Charles  placed  it  there  ; '  and  kissing  it 
fondly,  she  murmured, l  we  will  never,  never 
•part.  Is  not  this  beautiful  ? '  she  continued, 
drawing  frem  her  bosom  a  silken  bag,  -which 
^contained  a  small  piece  of  paper,  from  which 
-she  read,  in  a  low,  sweet  tone,  the  following 
iines : 

"'There's  not  a  word  thy  lip  hath  breathed, 
A  look  thine  eye  hath  given, 
That  is  not  shrined  within  my  heart 
Like  to  a  dream  of  heaven. 
There's  not  a  spot  where  we  -have  met, 
A  favorite  flower  or  tree; 
There's  not  a  scene  by  thee  beloved 
ITbat  is  not  prized  by  me. 

•t 


242  THE    SILVER    CUP 

Whene'er  I  hear  the  linnet's  song, 

Or  the  blithe  woodlark's  lay, 

Or  mark  upon  the  golden  west 

The  rosy  clouds  decay; 

Whene'er  I  catch  the  breath  of  flowers, 

Or  music  from  the  tree, 

Thought  wings  her  way  to  distant  bowersy 

And  memory  clings  to  thee,' 

"As  she  concluded  these  beautiful  l!nes> 
rendered  still  more  touching  by  her  impas- 
sioned manner,  she  paused,  and  a  shade  of 
sadness  flitted  over  her  lovely  face  ;  then 
tittering  a  fearful  shriek,  which  the  lapse  of 
years  has  not  effaced  from  my  recollection, 
she  seized  my  arm  and  screamed  forth  in 
accents  of  terror  : 

atThey  shall  not  tear  thee  from  me  !  I 
will  cling  to  thee  while  I  have  life  !  Charles  I 
Charles  !  do  you  not  hear  me  ?  '  T  is  Lucyr 
thine  own  Lucy,  who  calls  thee,  and  bids 
thee  stay.  See !  see  !  they  mock  at  my  des- 
pair !  fiends,  devils,  furies,  all  the  powers  of 
earth  shall  not  wrest  him  from  me  !  Father! 
father  !  help  !  for  God's  sake  help  !  ' 


OF    SPARKLING    DROPS.         243 

"  For  hours  after  this  sad  scene  the  unfor- 
tunate girl  lay  in  the  same  state  as  when  I 
first  saw  her.  Vainly  did  I  resort  to  every 
possible  restorative,  and  I  indeed  feared  that 
the  bruised  and  wounded  spirit  had  quitted 
its  earthly  abode  ;  but  it  was  not  so.  Slowly 
and  sadly  the  long  hours  of  that  dreary 
night  wore  on,  and  the  solemn  stillness  was 
broken  only  by  the  sobs  of  the  poor  old 
man,  watching  with  a  parent's  love  for  the 
slightest  ray  of  hope  ;  but  as  the  gray  dawn 
appeared,  poor  Lucy  gave  some  signs  of  re- 
turning life,  and  at  last  she  murmured  forth 
some  indistinct  words.  Having  again  success- 
fully administered  further  restoratives,  I  left 
left  her  to  the  care  of  her  nurse,  enjoining 
quietude,  and  promising  to  see  her  again  in 
two  hours.  As  I  approached  her  chamber, 
the  full,  rich,  mellow  tones  of  a  female  voice 
burst  on  my  ear,  now  swelling  to  its  fullest 
extent,  now  dying  on  my  entranced  senses 
with  an  unearthly  sweetness.  Oh  !  never, 
never  had  I  heard  so  wild,  so  sweet,  a  strain. 
The  words  —  for  as  I  drew  near  I  could 
distinguish  them  —  were  these  : 


£44  THE    SILVER    CtJt> 

'They  bid  me  forget  thee,  they  tell  me  that 
The  grave  damp  is  staining  that  beautiful  brow; 
But  thy  gay  laugh  returns  in  the  silence  of  sleept 
And  I  start  from  my  slumbers  to  listen  and  weep>' 

".'Doctor,  doctor,'  eagerly  exclaimed  the 
father,  as  I  gently  opened  the  door,  l  there  is 
hope  —  I  see,  I  feel  there  is  hope  —  for  she 
weeps.' 

"  And  so  it  was  ;  her  own  sad,  sweet  mel- 
ody had  opened  the  flood-gates  of  her  grief, 
and  she  wept  long  and  violently;  indeed,  so 
unrestrained  was  her  emotion  that  I  dreaded 
its  effects  on  her  delicate  frame. 

"  *  Father  !  dear  father  ! '  she  at  last  said, 
in  a  low,  faint  voice, '  come  nearer,  closer,  yet 
closer.  Where  am  I,  father  2  not  in  my  own 
loved  home  !  Father  !  dear  father  !  tell  me.' 

"The  old  man  struggled  to  repress  his 
emotion,  (for  I  whispered  — '  Be  calm,  for 
God's  sake,  be  calm !  any  excitement  will 
destroy  her,')  and  said  : 

" '  You  are  with  your  friends,  dearest,  with 
those  who  love  and  cherish  you  ;  compose 
yourself,  my  own  one.  You  have  been  ill, 


OF    SPARKLING    DEOPS  245 

very  ill;  but  the  Almighty  has  hear  my 
prayers  and  restored  you  to  me.' 

"  t  Oh,  father  !  I  have  had  a  fearful  dream. 
I  thought  it  was  my  bridal-day,  and  that, 
leaning  on  your  arm,  I  stood  before  the  altar. 
Charles,  too,  was  there  ;  and  when  I  gave 
him  my  hand,  liis  hand  was  cold,  icy  cold  ; 
and  when  he  should  have  spoken,  his  lips 
were  motionless  ;  and  there,  standing  by  his 
side,  was  a  skeleton  form,  which  wound  its 
arms  around  him,  and  bore  him  from  me. 
Oh  !  so  fearful  was  it,  that  now,  even  now,  I 
can  scarcely  doubt  its  dreadful  reality.' 

"At  that  moment,  her  eye  fell  on  her 
strange  attire  —  the  black  veil  falling  in 
folds  over  her  snowy  dress,  and  the  bridal 
token  glittering  on  her  finger  —  then,  with 
a  piercing  shriek,  which  rose  higher  and 
higher,  till  it  ended  in  the  yell  of  a  maniac, 
she  fell  senseless  in  the  outstretched  arms  of 
her  father.  Life  was  indeed  extinct,  and  her 
pure  spirit  had  taken  its  everlasting  flight; 
the  silver  cord,  which  had  been  too  highly 
strung,  had  snapped  in  twain,  and  the  Wid- 
owed Bride  lay  motionless  and  dead. 


246  THE    SILVEE    CUP 

"  Would  that  I  had  been  spared  the  sight 
of  that  old  man's  grief ;  there  he  knelt,  sup- 
porting the  lifeless  form  of  his  only  child. 
His  whole  frame  shook  with  emotion,  and 
cold  drops  of  agony  burst  from  every  pore. 

'"My  child!  my  child!'  at  length  he 
groaned ;  'my  pride,  my  joy,  the  bright  star 
of  my  existence,  my  beautiful,  my  true ; 
would  that  I  had  died  for  thee,  my  child,  my 
child!' 

"  His  voice  grew  fainter,  and  fainter,  his 
grasp  grew  less  firm,  the  eyes  became  fixed. 
I  looked  :  he  was  dead  !  Yes,  they  who  had 
loved  so  well  and  truly  in  life,  in  death  were 
not  separated.  They  sleep  together  in  the 

family  vault,  in Church,  and  this  simple 

inscription  alone  marks  her  monument  — 
'THE  WIDOWED  BRIDE.'" 


BY  MRS.  E.  J.  EAMES. 

Come  back  to  me,  my  child!  I  call  thee  ever, 
All  the  day  long  I  listen  for  thy  voice, — 
The  ringing  laugh  that  made  my  heart  rejoice; 


OF    SPARKLING    DKOPS.  247 

I  miss  it  'midst  life's  languishment  and  fever! 
For  thy  blue  eyes  of  love  and  light  I  pine, — 

Thy  twining  arms  —  thy  frequent  soft  caress: 
Like  balmiest  summer,  stole  thy  lips  to  mine. 

Oh!  at  still  eve,  my  heart  how  didst  thou  bless! 
Come  back,  my  child!  I  wander  hopeless-hearted 

Where'er  thy  little  feet  have  dancing  stray'd; 
Sad  is  the  home  whence  thy  sweet  face  hath  parted  — 

Silent  the  nursery  where  thou'st  prattling  played! 
Earth  wears  for  me  but  one  unvaring  gloom, 
O'ershadowed  by  the  thought  that  thou  art  in  the  tomb! 

Come  back  to  me,  my  child!  though  but  in  dreams  — 

Thine  angel- image  let  me  clasp  once  more! 
If  haply,  o'er  my  couch  still  slumber  gleams, 

The  night-time  may  thy  rosy  lips  restore, — 
Thy  downy  cheek  laid  lovingly  to  mine. — 

Thy  sweet  "my  mother,"  in  thy  dreaming  sleep  — 
While  thy  small  arms  around  me  closer  twine. 

My  idol-boy !     I  wake  to  weep, 
Never  again  on  earth  shall  I  behold  thee! 

Thou'st  left  my  side,  and  gone  to  other  rest! 
My  child !  I  know  the  Saviour's  arms  enfold  thee,  — 

I  know  thou  leanest  on  his  pitying  breast, 
A  blessed  lot!  my  child!  oh,  ask  for  me, 
That  where  thy  home  is,  mine  ere  long  may  be! 


248  THIT   SILVER    CUP 


BY  MISS  PHEBE  CAREY. 

Once  in  the  season  of  childhood's  joy,, 

Dreaming  never  of  life's  great  ills, 
Hand  in  hand  with  a  happy  bay, 

I  walked  about  on  my  native  hills. 

Gathering  berries  ripe  and  fair, 

Pressing  them  oft  to  his  smiling  lip 

Braiding  flowers  in  his  sunny  hair, 

And  letting  the  curls  through  my  fingers  slips. 

Watching  the  clouds  of  the  evening  pass 
Over  the  moon  in  our  home  of  blue; 

Or  chasing  fireflies  over  the  grass, 

Filling  our  feet  with  the  summer  dew*, 

Now  I  walk  on  the  hills  alone, 

Dreaming  never  of  hope  or  joy, 
And  over  a  dungeon's  floor  of  stone,. 

Sweeps  the  curls  of  that  happy  boy_ 

And  every  night  where  a  rose  hedge  springs 
Up  from  the  ashes  of  a  sunset's  pyre, 

And  the  eve-star  folding  her  golden  wings,. 
Droops  like  a  bird  in.  the  leaves  of  fire*. 


OF    SPARKLING    DROPS.  249 

I  sit  and  think  how  he  entered  in, 
And  farther  and  farther  every  time, 

Followed  the  downward  way  of  sin, 
Till  it  led  to  the  awful  gates  of  crime. 

I  sit  and  think  till  my  great  despair, 

Rises  up  like  a  mighty  wave; 
How  fast  the  locks  of  my  father's  hair, 

Are  whitening  now  for  the  quiet  grave. 

But  never  reproach  on  my  lip  has  been, 

Never  one  moment  can  I  forget, 
Though  bound  in  prison,  and  lost  in  sin, 

My  brother  once,  is  my  brother  yet. 


nngof  a  (laarbian  Iptrtt 


BY  MRS.  HEMAXS. 


Near  thee,  still  near  thee !  o'er  thy  pathway  gliding, 

Unseen  I  pass  thee  with  the  wind's  low  sigh  ; 
Life's  veil  enfolds  thee  still,  our  eyes  dividing, 
Yet  viewless  love  floats  round  thee  silently ! 
Not  midst  the  festal  throng, 
In  halls  of  mirth  and  song; 
But  when  thy  thoughts  are  deepest, 
When  holy  tears  thou  weepst, 

Know  then  that  Love  is  nigh! 
11* 


250  THE    SILVEU    CUP 

"When  the  night's  whisper  o'er  harp-strings  creeping. 

Or  the  sea-music  on  the  sounding  shore, 
Or  breezy  anthems  through  the  forest  sweeping, 
Shall  move  thy  trembling  spirit  to  adore; 
When  every  thought  and  prayer 
We  loved  to  breathe  and  share, 
On  thy  full  heart  returning, 
Shall  wake  its  voiceless  yearning; 
Then  feel  me  near  once  more! 

Near  thee,  still  near  thee!  —  trust  thy  soul's   deep 

cfreaming  — 

Oh!  love  is  not  an  earthly  rose,  to  die! 
E'en  when  I  soar  where  fiery  stars  are  beaming, 
Thine  image  wanders  with  me  through  the  sky. 
The  fields  of  air  are  free, 
Yet  lonely,  wanting  thee; 
But  when  thy  chains  are  falling, 
When  heaven  its  own  is  calling, 
Know  then  thy  guide  is  nigh! 


JESUS  stood  upon  Mount  Olivet,  and,  look 
ing  down  upon  the  holy  city,  wept,  and  said, 
"  How  offc  would  I  have  gathered  you  —  but 


OF    SPARKLING    DROPS.  251 

ye  would  not."  Again,  as  he  drew  near  he 
cried,  "  O  that  thou  hadst  known,  even  thou, 
in  this  thy  day,  the  things  that  belonged  to 
thy  peace,  but  now  are  they  hid  from  thine 
eyes."  "  The  days  shall  come  in  which  thine 
enemies  shall  compass  thee  on  every  side, 
and  lay  thee  even  with  the  ground,  and 
thy  children  within  thee." 

Thirty  years  had  now  elapsed  since  these 
prophetic  words  were  uttered,  and  still  upon 
Mount  Zion  stands  Jerusalem  —  the  pride 
and  boast  of  Israel.  Her  massive  walls,  her 
glittering  turrets,  and  lofty  colonnades  are 
glorious  still.  Her  temple-gates  are  thronged 
with  worshipers,  who,  from  the  farthest  cor- 
ner of  Judea's  realm,  have  here  assembled  to 
celebrate  the  feast. 

But  hark  !  what  sound  is  that  which  swells 
upon  the  breeze,  and  echoes  from  the  neigh- 
boring mountains.  'Tis  not  the  solemn 
chant  of  praise  ascending  to  the  God  of 
Israel,  for  naught  but  harsh  and  jarring 
discord  meets  the  ear. 

'  T  is  even  true  ;  within  those  sacred  walls 
Are  fighting,  murder,  and  contention  fierce. 


252  THE    SILVER    GTTF 

Still,  all  without  Jerusalem  is  peace.  Na- 
ture  seems  hushed  to  silence.  There  is  Si- 
loam's  shady  fountain ;  the  Mount  of  Olives, 
and  the  hallowed  garden  stretch  beyond  in 
all  their  loveliness  ;  and  here,  beneath  the 
lofty  battlement  runs  Kedron's  murmuring 
stream.  But  soon  the  scene  is  changed.  A 
nation,  swift  and  mighty,  comes  from  far  — 
and  now  the  Koman  eagle  flaps  his  dark  and 
deadly  pinions  over  the  fair  heritage  of  Ju- 
dah's  children.  Now  do  the  little  band  of 
Christ's  disciples  remember  his  prophetic 
warning.  They  hasten  to  the  mountains, 
and  thus  escape  the  dread  destruction  poured 
upon  the  guilty.  Vengeance  waits  no  longer. 
Now  had  the  day  of  desolation  fully  come. 
For  five  months  had  the  army  of  Titus  en- 
compassed this  devoted  city,  while  within  its 
walls,  faction,  famine,  and  pestilence  had  car- 
ried on  the  work  of  death.  But  now  the 
cup  of  their  iniquities  was  filled.  Prophets 
for  them  had  spent  their  lives  in  toil  and 
suffering,  praying  for  them  that  God  would 
spare  his  judgments,  though  so  richly  mer- 
ited. But  they  had  killed  the  holy  men. 


OF    SPARKLING    DKOPS.  253 

At  length  God  sent  his  Son,  but  him  they 
had  despised,  scorned,  and  rejected,  though 
he  did  among  them  works  which  none  before 
had  ever  done.  They  brought  the  blessed 
Jesus  to  the  Roman  judgment  bar.  Here 
crowds  gathered  round  him,  and  the  mur- 
derers cried,  "  O,  crucify  him  !  crucify  him  ! 
and  let  his  blood  be  on  us  and  on  our  chil- 
dren." That  prayer  ascended  to  the  throne, 
of  Him  who  sits  upon  the  heavens;  and 
answer  was  not  long  denied. 

A  change  comes  over  Palestine.  "  Jerusa- 
lem is  compassed  round  with  armies."  For 
many  days  unearthly  sounds  were  heard,  and 
fearful  signs  and  wonders  in  the  sky  ap- 
peared. A  "  flaming  sword,"  suspended  in 
the  heavens  seemed  to  threaten  vengeance. 
Still  did  these  deluded  Jews  believe  that 
their  deliverance  was  sure.  They  thought 
the  God  of  Israel  would  soon  appear  to 
help  and  save,  and  trusted,  ere  another  night, 
the  Roman  legions  would  be  slain,  even  as 
were  the  hosts  of  proud  Assyria,  before  "  the 
Lord's  destroying  angel.'' 

As  the   last   morning   dawns   upon   their 


254  THE    SILVER    CUP 

glorious  city,  crowds  are  seen  rushing  to  the 
temple.  The  unholy  priests  kneel  round  the 
altar,  but  even  this  is  not  a  refuge.  God's 
house  is  not  a  Sanctuary,  for  he  has  left  it, 
and  the  bright- winged  messengers  of  mercy 
all  have  fled  from  this  polluted  place.  The 
troops  of  Titus  now  have  gained  the  citadel ; 
its  lofty  walls  have  given  way,  and  trampling 
on  the  famished  troops,  the  infuriate  soldiers 
rush  with  madness  toward  th.A  temple-porch. 
The  holiest  is  polluted  with  unhallowed  foot- 
steps, and,  round  the  consecrated,  strown,  are 
seen  the  mangled  bodies  of  unholy  men. 

Even  now  the  flames  are  tow'ring  from  the 
mountain,  up  toward  heaven.  Loud  shrieks 
and  lamentations  rend  the  air.  The  beau- 
tiful and  holy  temple  is  enveloped  in  the 
flames.  Not  all  the  efforts  of  the  mighty 
Roman  could  avail  to  spare  this  glorious 
building  —  for  God  had  said,  "  one  stone 
shall  not  be  left  upon  another."  Oh  !  Jeru- 
salem !  it  is  hi  vain  for  thy  deluded  sons  to 
plead  for  mercy,  or  to  seek  the  place  where 
God  once  met  to  bless  thee.  Thou  need'st 
not  now  cry  unto  Him,  whom  thou  hast  so 


OF    SPARKLING    DROPS.  255 

long  scorned.  Turn  not  thy  eyes  toward  the 
place  where  late  thy  temple  stood,  as  if  ex- 
pecting aid  from  thence.  Thy  God  has  left 
thee,  and  thou  art  cast  off  to  be  destroyed. 

The  work  of  desolation  now  is  completed. 
The  Roman  turns  and  looks  upon  the  scene 
of  conquest.  Well  may  he  exclaim,  "had 
not  our  helper  been  the  mighty  God,  these 
walls  had  not  been  turned  from  their  founda- 
tions. Even  now  Jerusalem  had  been  the 
praise  of  all  the  earth." 

Centuries  have  since  gone  by,  and  Judah 
lies  a  "  field  of  ruins  "  —  "a  curse  devours  it," 
and  even  now  "  it  mourns  for  the  iniquities 
of  them  that  dwelt  therein." 

A  remnant  of  the  chosen  still  survive,  but 
scattered  over  all  the  earth ;  and  to  this  day 
remain  a  "  bruised  and  persecuted  people," 
without  an  "  ephod,  teraphim,  and  sacrifice." 
Still  they  call  our  God  their  Father  —  and 
shall  they  own  the  Prince  of  Glory,  even 
Jesus,  as  their  King  ?  And  can  it  be  that 
unrepented  sins  shall  always  shut  on  them 
the  door  of  mercy  ?  Ah,  no  !  the  promise 
of  a  faithful  God  is  pledged,  his  covenant  is 


256  THE    SILVER    CtJP 

sure.  "  They  shall  repent,"  and  He  will  yet 
restore  his  long-lost,  chosen  people.  The 
mists  of  unbelief  shall  flee  before  the  beams 
of  the  Sun  of  Righteousness  ;  and  in  the 
new  Jerusalem  above,  angelic  choirs  shall 
louder  swell  their  notes  of  praise,  when 
God's  first  chosen  one  shall  stand  before  his 
throne  with  all  the  ransomed  throng.  "  Then 
shall  they  serve  Him  in  his  temple  day  and 
night,  and  He  that  sitteth  on  the  throne  shall 
dwell  among  them." 


BY  J.  CLEMENT. 


0  man!  the  day  is  sunny, 

And  its  censer  full  of  balm; 
The  air  is  bland  and  bracing, 

And  it  nerves  the  brawny  arm. 
Then  while  the  light  is  streaming 

On  the  whitened  fields  around, 
And  the  voices  of  the  reapers 

Like  a  holy  anthem  souad, 
Into  the  golden  harvest 

Thrust  the  sickle  with  thy  might, 


OF    SPARKLING    DROPS.         257 

For  fast  the  day  is  waning; 
And  cometh  soon  the  night. 

O 

0  worn  and  weary  worker, 

Whose  sun  is  in  the  West, 
Thy  labor,  nearly  ended, 

Will  sweeten  coming  rest. 

O 

And  great  shall  be  the  honor 

Of  thy  spirit,  truly  just, 
When  the  task  of  life  is  finished 

And  thy  body  lies  in  dustj 
For  the  toilers  in  the  vineyard 

Of  the  glorious  God  of  love, 
For  ever  rest  from  labor 

In  the  palaces  above. 


nf 


A  widow  knelt,  at  eventide,  in  the  holy  act  of  prayer, 
Amid  the  young  and  sireless  band  entrusted  to  her  care : 
Meekly  and  trustfully  she  sued  before  the  Power  divine, 
Yet  closed  each  prayer  with  these  deep  words,  — "  Lord, 
not  my  will,  but  thine." 

She  prayed  —  her  little  ones  drew  near — for  all  th.a 
fatherless* 


258  THE    SILVER    CUP 

And,  with  clasped  hands,  besought  our  Lord  her  tender 
flock  to  bless, 

And  "with  the  needed  strength  to  nerve  her  faint  and  err- 
ing heart, 

To  train  them  in  the  way  from  which  they  never  might 
depart. 

She  prayed  —  her  voice  grew  tremulous  —  for  one  who 

long  had  been 

A  reekless  wanderer  from  her  arms,  a  reveler  in  sin,  — 
Her  first-born  son,  who  scorned  alike  her  prayers  and  her 

reproof, 
And  from  his  home  and  God,  for  years,  had  coldly  kept 

aloof. 

She  prayed ;  and  the  warm  eloquence  of  stung  but  hoping 

love 
Bore  on  ite  swift  and  fervid  wings  these  heart-wrung  words 

above : 
"  0  Lord  !  my  Lord  !  thou  yet  wilt  have  compassion  on 

my  tears, 
Nor  turn  to  dust  the  lone  desire  of  all  my  widowed  years. 

"He  is  my  child,  —  he  was  the  first  fair  blossom  from  thy 

hand, 
Pure  as  the  snow-drop,  when  the  spring  first  breathes  upon 

the  land : 
He  seemed  to  love  thee,  ere  the  blight  had  fallen  on  his 

soul, 
Or  vile  companions  had  enticed  to  drain  the  maddening 

boivl. 


OF    SPARKLING    DROPS.          259 

u  0 !  by  the  holy  water  poured  upon  his  infant  brow, 

When  with  rapt  soul  I  breathed  to  Heaven  the  dedicating 
vow, 

By  all  my  heavy,  darkened  days,  by  all  my  sleepless 
nights, 

When  striving  with  this  cankering  woe,  that  every  pleas- 
ure blights,  — 

By  the  last  boon  his  father  craved,  Jmid  dissolution's 
pangs, 

I  pray  thee,  snatch  my  dying  child  from  out  the  tempter's 
fangs. 

u  Call  home  the  prodigal,  —  a  feast  of  love  awaits  him  — 

still; 
Yet  pardon  this  weak  heart,  if  aught  it  asks  against  thy 

will. 
Oh !   frenzied  is  a  mother's  love,  —  such  frenzied  love  is 

mine; 
Yet  shall  it  yield  its  strength  to  thee :  "  Lord,  not  my  will, 

but  thine." 

A  cry  is  heard :  a  loathsome  form  in  tattered  garb  draws 

ne.tr ; 
A  sobbing  voice  breathes,  *  Mother,'  in  the  widow's  startled 

ear! 

0,  doth  the  mighty  God  at  last  her  sad  petition  heed  ? 
He  doth,  he  doth,  and  answers  it,  in  this  her  hour  of  need. 

The  wanderer  weeps  upon  her  neck,  hot,  penitential  tears ; 
He  had  come  back,  with  calous  heart,  to  bid  farewell  for 
years; 


260  THE    SILVER    CUP 

When  that  wild  prayer  his  bosom  pierced,  like  lightning 

from  the  heaven ; 
And  now,  as  when  a  little  child,  he  prays  to  be  forgiven. 

Oh !  ye  who  mourn  o'er  blighted  hopes,  o'er  loved  ones 

gone  astray, 

Do  ye,  like  him  who  craves  for  bread,  importunately  pray  ? 
Though  many  blessed  gifts  are  ours  without  our  anxious 

thought, 
There  are  some  boons  that  with  our  prayers  and  tears 

alone  are  bought. 


i  lopes  of 

BY  MBS.  D.  E.  GOODMAN. 

How  fleeting,  how  transient  are  the  dreams 
of  life,  and  yet,  how  beautiful !  How  bright 
and  gladsome  is  this  fair  earth,  with  its  bold 
mountains  reaching  to  heaven,  its  gentle,  ver- 
dant hillocks,  its  towering  trees,  its  rippling 
rills  ;  and  then  the  music  of  its  singing 
birds  —  oh,  how  soothingly  it  falls  upon  the 
ear !  Spring,  —  glad,  merry,  delightful 
spring,  —  how  the  eye  kindles  and  the  cheek 
glows,  as  the  chained  rivulets  burst  their 


OF    SPARKLING    DROPS.  261 

long  and  weary  confinement,  and  spring 
forth,  frolicking  and  dancing,  like  a  child  of 
the  wild-wood :  and  then  to  see  in  every 
nook  and  glen,  by  eveiy  murmuring  stream, 
and  over  each  verdant  meadow,  tiny,  modest, 
beautiful  buds  and  flowers  starting  to  birth, 
as  if  some  angel's  breath  had  fanned  the 
whole  earth.  Oh,  it  is  so  enchanting.  But 
who  has  not  mourned  to  see  these  bright 
things  wither,  to  see  the  green,  thick  foliage 
turn  pale,  and  fall  helplessly  to  be  trodden 
under  foot,  to  listen  to  the  last  trembling 
note  of  that  fairy  song,  whose  melody  had 
soothed  the  heart  full  oft !  And  it  is  even 
so  with  earth's  fairest  dreams.  Happy  he 
whose  only  source  of  grief,  whose  only  cause 
for  weeping,  has  been  the  death  of  a  favorite 
flower,  or  the  loss  of  a  cherished  bird  !  For 
will  not  spring  return,  with  added  loveliness 
to  the  sleeping  earth,  will  not  her  flowers 
bloom  again,  and  her  songsters  fill  the  air 
with  their  quivering,  melting,  strains  !  But 
the  bright  dreams  of  childhood,  the  visions  of 
early  youth,  once  crushed  and  withered,  when 
will  tliey  again  gladden  the  heart  ?  Never ! 


262  THE    SILVER    OtTP 

I  knew  a  fair  young  girl,  who  dwelt  witK 
in  a  happy  home,  the  pride,  the  joy,  of  fond 
indulgent  parents,  and  the  fairest  blossom 
that  threw  its  light  across  their  pathway. 
Gentle,  loving,  beautiful,  she  had  won  the 
love  of  all  who  knew  her,  and  on  her  youth- 
ful head,  were  showered  the  blessings  of 
young  and  old.  It  was  a  sweet  retired  spot, 
the  house  of  her  happy  childhood  —  a  fairy 
abode  in  the  bosom  of  New  England.  No 
strife  or  contention  dwelt  within  its  borders, 
and  hers  was  the  sunny  face,  and  hers  the 
joyous  laugh  that  chased  the  cloud  from 
every  brow,  and  brought  peace  to  every 
heart.  It  was  a  glad  spring  morning,  and 
the  cottage  windows  were  open  to  admit  the 
morning  breeze.  Its  snowy  sides  nearly  con- 
cealed by  clambering  vines,  whose  slender 
tendrils  had  wound  themselves  together, 
forming,  with  the  glossy  leaves,  a  beautiful, 
shadowy  curtain  ;  and  the  drooping  branches 
of  the  stately  trees  bent  with  their  cluster- 
ing foliage  shelteringly  over  the  low  roof. 
Bright,  lovely  flowerets  peeped  out  from 
their  grassy  beds,  while  from  their  fragrant 


OF    SPARKLING    DROPS.          263 

bosoms  the  pure  sunbeams  kissed  the  silver 
dew-drops.  Oh,  how  surpassingly  fair  was 
all  without,  as  if  no  mildew  were  there  to 
blight,  no  rude,  cold  breath  to  wither,  and 
within  the  rural  cot  were  joy  and  grief  com- 
mingled. It  was  ADA'S  wedding  morn. 
Meekly  she  stood  before  the  venerable  pas- 
tor, whose  hand  had  placed  upon  her  infant 
brow  the  sacred  seal,  and  whose  kindly 
beaming  eyes  had  watched  her  budding 
charms  with  all  a  father's  fondness  in  their 
expression.  Calmly  she  stood  there,  with 
her  dark,  soft  eyes  smiling,  yet  cheerful,  her 
cheek  a  little  paler  than  usual,  and  a  slight 
tremor  on  her  red  lip.  A  pure,  snowy,  half- 
opened  rose-bud,  gleamed  out  from  among 
the  heavy  braids  of  her  raven  hair,  and  a 
few  natural,  glossy  curls  fell  from  her  white 
broad  forehead  over  her  neck,  resting  in 
pleasing  contrast  upon  the  plain  white  muslin 
dress  which  hung  gracefully  about  her  form. 
By  her  side,  and  clasping  her  slender  fin- 
gers, was  the  chosen  of  her  young  heart  —  a 
manly,  noble  youth,  with  a  dark,  high  brow, 
and  a  thousand  ringlets  clustering  above  it, 


364  THE    SILVEK    CUP 

«yes,  whose  passionate,  earnest  depths  told 
the  love  he  bore  the  gentle  creature  he  was  - 
soon  to  call  his  own.  A  sorrowful  yet  happy 
group  surrounded  the  youthful  pair.  There 
was  a  white-haired  sire,  with  his  lofty,  in- 
tellectual forehead  wrinkled  by  age  and 
browned  by  exposure,  eyes  moistened  yet 
beaming  with  love  and  gratitude,  and  a  heart 
fresh  and  loving  as  a  youthful  maiden's. 
Leaning  upon  his  shoulder  was  an  aged  ma- 
tron, upon  whose  truthful,  soul-lit  face  were 
visible  the  deep  and  various  emotions  which 
stirred  her  maternal  bosom.  Nearer  the 
youthful  bride,  and  gazing  into  her  calm, 
serene  face  was  a  young  creature,  scarcely 
less  lovely,  with  the  same  deep,  dreamy  eyes, 
&nd  open  brow,  the  same  dimpled  mouth  and 
jetty  tresses.  A  brother  too,  just  stepping 
into  manhood,  with  the  unsullied  light  of 
youth's  fair  hopes  undimmed,  —  and  several 
little  ones,  with  faces  like  an  April  sky,  tear- 
ful and  sunny,  hovered  near  —  the  loved,  the 
idolized.  That  morning  saw  the  new-made 
bride  depart  for  a  far  distant  home  —  a 
home  in  the  Western  wilds.  '  Light  was  the 


*>F    SPAKXLING    DEO  PS.  265 

lieart  and  blissful  were  the  dreams  that  went 
*with  the  youth  and  his  own  Ada  from  that 
cottage,  and  the  groups  of  yearning  kindred, 
'who  wept  to  see  them  depart.  But,  alas  ! 
for  the  hopes  of  earth  !  Two  years  had 
swiftly  fled,  and  the  second  returning  spring 
brought  to  the  old  man's  dwelling  a  bowed 
;and  stricken  form.  The  husband  of  their 
dead  child  had  returned  with  the  heavy  hand 
of  anguish  on  his  heart,  and  hope's  bright 
-garland  withered.  In  his  arm  he  bore  a 
cherub  boy,  on  whose  dimpled  cheek  was  the 
rich  glow  of  health,  and  in  his  dark  eye  the 
«oul  of  his  angel-mother  beamed.  The  wea- 
ried husband  told  the  gathered  mourning 
band  how  the  flower  had  faded  and  died 
«upon  his  bosom ;  and  of  the  holy  smile 
^vhich  lingered  on  the  cold  lips  after  the 
spirit  had  left  its  clay  tenement.  He  told 
•  them  how  his  trembling  fingers  had  parted 
the  damp  curls  from  her  marbk  forehead, 
and  twined  among  the  glossy,  shining  tresses 
a  shriveled  rose-bud  —  the  same  that  had 
nestled  there  on  her  bridal  morn  —  and  how 
her  green  grave,  with  its  simple  monument 

12 


2ot>  THE    SILVER    OUF 

of  snowy  marble,  on  which  was  only  insert 
bed, 4  Ada,'  was  sheltered  by  a  weeping  wil- 
low, whose  long,  drooping  boughs  waved 
above  her  head.  That  long  weary  summer 
passed  away,  and  when  the  autumn  frosts 
had  changed  the  fresh,  green  leaves  of  the 
forest  trees  to  their  pale  hue,  they  gently  fell 
upon  his  resting  place.  The  youthful  hus- 
band had  followed  his  lovely  bride  to  that 
home  above  — '  that  house  not  made  with 
hands/  where  pain  and  parting  are  no  more. 
Another  form  comes  up  before  me  now  : 
it  is  that  of  a  youthful  maiden.  I  knew  her 
well.  She  had  culled  earth's  fairest  flowers^ 
and  found  them  thornless  ;  she  had  dreamed 
earth's  brightest  dreams,  and  cherished 
earth's  fondest  hopes,  and  never,  never  had 
a  cloud  of  darkness  hung  upon*  her  brow. 
One  day,  when  the  face  of  Nature  was  smil- 
ing and  blushing  beneath  the  warm,  pure 
rays  of  an  autumn  sun,  and  the'  deep  blue  of 
autumn  skies,  she  went  forth  from  her  pleas- 
ant, happy  home  —  a  bride.  Oh,  who  may 
tell  the  visions  of  gladness  and  joy  which 
rose,  dim  and  shadowy,  in  the  distant  future  ! 


OF    SPARKLING    DROPS.  267 

Who  may  know  the  blissful,  trembling  emo- 
tions of  her  soul,  and  the  hopes  which 
crowded  her  youthful  bosom  ! 

Months  passed  away,  and  she  was  still 
blessed  —  still  happy.  But  a  dark  day  was 
drawing  on,  a  shadow  of  awful  darkness  hov- 
ered about  her  pathway :  yet  she  knew  it 
not.  The  sunny  light  of  hope  and  love  was 
on  her  brow,  and  in  the  depths  of  her  heart. 
She  had  bowed  before  an  earthly  shrine,  and 
poured  her  deepest,  intensest  feeling  upon  an 
earthly  object ;  but  the  cloud  above  her 
head  thickened,  and  when  least  expected 
burst  upon  her.  Wildly  she  hung  above  the 
death-bed  of  the  stricken  one,  and  prayed  — 
oh,  how  fervently,  for  the  life  of  him  who 
was  her  all  —  her  idol.  Slowly,  but  surely, 
the  tyrant  approached,  and  at  last  his  icy  fin- 
gers moved  among  the  tender  heartstrings, 
and  they  ceased  to  vibrate  —  his  cold  breath 
passed  over  the  marble  brow  and  it  was  chil- 
led. Desparingly  she  gazed  upon  the  still 
features  whose  beauty  death  itself  could  not 
destroy,  and  with  her  trembling,  white  fingers 
laid  the  chesnut  curls  back  from  the  pale 


268  THIS  SILVER  CUP 

forehead.  Who  shall  tell  the  thoughts  of 
agony  that  crowded  through  her  torn  bosom. 
Oh,  who  may  know  the  unutterable  anguish 
of  her  heart !  Days  and  weeks  passed  away, 
but  the  free  sunlight  of  her  early  dreams 
came  not  again.  There  was  a  fixed  grief  at 
her  heart's  core,  a  settled  melancholy  upon 
her  pale  face,  which  told  that  in  the  low 
grave  of  her  soul's  idol  were  buried  all  her 
earthly  hopes. 

I  never  see  a  fairy  girl,  with  health's  glow 
npon  her  cheek,  and  love's  light  in  her  beam- 
ing eye  —  I  never  hear  her  silvery  laugh,  and 
listen  to  the  echo  of  her  sweet  voice,  but  I 
think  of  the  darkness  of  coming  years.  I 
have  seen  so  many  a  beautiful  thing  wither 
and  fall  to  the  grave,  —  I  have  watched  the 
overthrow  of  so  many  earthly  schemes,  and 
noted  the  death  of  so  many  earthly  hopes, 
that  I  tremble  for  the  trusting,  warm  heart, 
which  I  know  must  ere  long  bleed  over  some 
faded  dream  or  withered  idol.  I  have  stood 
by  the  low,  calm  resting  place  of  age,  where 
the  man,  with  snowy  locks,  was  sweetly  sleep- 
but  I  shed  no  tear  over  his  fate.  For 


OP    SPARKLING    DKOPS.  269 

must  it  not  be  pleasant,  after  a  long  life  of 
care  and  toil,  and  it  may  be  of  suffering,  to 
lie  down  at  last  in  the  grave,  to  bid  adieu  to 
the  changing  world,  and  welcome  the  joys 
of  everlasting  life  ? 

But  my  teara  have  watered  the  fresh  sod 
beneath  which  slumbered  the  young,  the  gay, 
the  beautiful.  I  have  wept,  Heaven  knows 
how  bitterly,  how  agonizingly,  over  the 
blighting  of  youthful  loveliness  —  over  the 
faded  wreath  of  earthly  love.  But  amid  all 
the  gloom,  all  the  decay  around,  there  comes 
a  soft,  sweet  whisper  —  a  low,  gentle  breath- 
ing, as  from  an  angel's  lips,  soothing  the 
heart,  and  pouring  into  the  bleeding  bosom 
the  balm  of  consolation. 

An  unforeseen  finger  seems  pointing  us  to 
a  realm  of  peace,  an  asylum  pure  and  bright, 
where  hope  never  expires,  and  death,  and 
parting  are  unknown.  The  spirits  of  the  de- 
parted seem  hovering  near  us,,  and  spreading 
over  us  their  snowy  wings,  while,  in  tones 
like  the  spring  zephyr,  or  the  music  of  a  far- 
off  bird,  they  tell  us  of  a  home  beyond  the 


270  THE    SILVER    CUP 

skies,  where  the  bright  and  lovely  never  die, 
and  the  flowers  never  fade. 

How  soon  the  dreams  of  earth  depart! 

Its  hopes,  oh!  what  are  they? 
How  often  from  the  doting  heart 

They  fade  and  melt  away! 
Like  the  soft  cloud  that  gently  floats 

Across  the  summer  sky, 
Or  dew-drops  glistening  'neath  the  sun, 

Earth's  fairest  visions  die. 

The  heart  —  't  is  strange  what  feelings  move 

Its  tender,  hidden  strings  — 
How  strong  the  cord  that  earthly  love, 

About  it  softly  flings. 
'Tis  well  perhaps  that  all  its  hopes 

Thus  rudely  should  be  riven, 
To  tell  us  of  a  purer  clime  — 

A  brighter  home  in  heaven. 

'  T  is  well  —  but  oh,  how  hard  to  bow 

In  meek  and  holy  trust, 
When  pallid  cheek  and  marble  brow 

Are  laid  beneath  the  dust. 
When  from  the  fond  and  yearning  breast 

Is  coldly  borne  away 
The  worshiped  one,  too  good  and  pure 

In  this  dark  world  to  stay. 


SPAHKLING    DROPS. 


rWe  live  m  deeds,  not  years;  in  thoughts,  not  breaths; 
2n  feelings,  not  in  figures  on  a  dial. 
•"We  should  count  time  by  heart-throbs.     He  most  lives, 
Who  thinks  most;  feels  the  noblest:  acts  the  best. 
And  he  whose  heart  beats  quickest  lives  the  longest; 
Xives  in  one  hour  more  than  in  years  do  some, 
'"Whose  slow  Mood  sleeps  as  it  slips  along  their  veins. 
'Life  is  but  a  means  unto  an  end;  that  end, 
^Beginning,  mean,  and  end' to  all  things  —  God. 


tjit  /otint  nf  lotul 


JKneel  where  the  gem  of  faith  is  ever  gleaming, 

Kneel  where  the  pearl  of  hope  is  always  bright, 
(Kneel  where  the  eye  of  charity  is  beaming, 

Kneel,  gentle  pilgrim,  and  receive  thy  sight. 
Kneel,  and  thy  soul  shall  prove  a  well  of  gladness, 

Kneel,  and  eternal  life  will  soon  be  thine, 
JXneel,  and  forget  in  joy  thy  spirit's  sadness, 

JSLneel,  and  thy  heart  shall  never  more  repine  — 
to  the  fount  of  LOVE! 


2T2  THE    SILVER    CUP" 


nn 


BY   E.   NOTT,    D.   D. 

FATHERS,  mothers,  heads  of  families,  if  not 
preparedr  at  this  late  hour  to  change  your 
mode  of  life,  are  you  not  prepared  to  encour- 
age the  young,  particularly  your  children,  to- 
change  theirs  ?  Act  as  you  may,  yourselves,, 
do  you  not  desire  that  they  should  act  the 
part  of  safety  ?  Can  you  not  tell  them,  and 
truly  tell  them,  that  our  manner  of  life  is 
attended  with  les»  peril  than  your  own  ?  Can 
you  not  tell  them,  and  truly  tell  them,  that 
however  innocent  the  use  even  of  pure  wine 
may  be,  in  the  estimation  of  those  who  use 
it,  that  its  use  in  health  is  never  necessary  ; 
that  excess  is  always  injurious,  and  that  in; 
the  habitual  use  of  even  such  wine,  there  is 
always  danger  of  excess  ;  that  of  the  brand- 
ied  and  otherwise  adulterated  wines  in  use,  it 
can  not  be  said,  in  whatever  quantity,  that 
they  are  innocent  ;  that  the  temptation* 
to  adulterate  is  very  great,  detection  v 


OF    8PABKLING    D  11  OP 8.  273 

difficult  and  that  entire  safety  is  to  be  found 
only  in  total  abstinence  ?  Will  you  not  tell 
them  this  ?  And  having  told  them,  should 
they,  in  obedience  to  your  counsel,  relinquish 
at  once  the  use  of  all  intoxicating  liquors, 
would  their  present  condition,  you  yourselves 
being  judges,  would  their  present  condition 
be  less  secure,  or  their  future  prospects  less 
full  of  promise,  on  that  account  ?  Or  would 
the  remembrance  that  the  stand  they  took, 
was  taken  at  your  bidding,  either  awaken  in 
your  bosoms  misgivings  now,  or  regrets  here- 
after ?  Especially,  would  it  do  this  as  life 
declines,  and  you  approach  your  final  disso- 
lution and  last  account.  Then,  when  stand- 
ing on  the  verge  of  that  narrow  isthmus, 
which  separates  the  future  from  the  past,  and 
connects  eternity  with  time  ;  then,  when 
casting  the  last  lingering  look  back  upon  that 
world  to  which  you  are  about  to  bid  adieu 
for  ever,  will  the  thought  that  you  are  to 
leave  behind  you  a  family  trained  to  temper- 
ance not  only,  but  pledged  also  to  total  absti- 
nence, will  that  thought,  then,  think  you, 

plant  one  thorn  in  the  pillow  of  sickness,  or 
12* 


274  THE    SILVER    CUP 

add  one  pang  to  the  agonies  of  death  ?  O  ! 
no,  it  is  not  this  thought,  but  the  thought  of 
dying  and  leaving  behind. a  family  of  profli- 
gate children,  to  nurture  other  children  no 
less  profligate,  in  their  turn  to  nurture  others, 
thus  transmitting  guilt  and  misery  to  a  re- 
mote posterity ;  it  is  this  thought,  and 
thoughts  like  this,  in  connection  with  another 
thought,  suggested  by  those  awful  words, 
"For, I,  the  Lord  thy  God,  am  a  jealous  God, 
visiting  the  iniquities  of  the  fathers  upon  the 
children,  to  the  third  and  fourth  generation, 
of  them  that  hate  me,"  —  it  is  thoughts  like 
these,  and  not  the  thought  of  leaving  behind 
a  family  pledged  to  total  abstinence,  that 
will  give  to  life's  last  act  a  sadder  coloring, 
and  man's  last  hour  a  denser  darkness.  Be- 
tween these  two  conditions  of  the  dying, 
if  held  within  our  offer,  who  of  us  would 
hesitate  ? 

Ye  children  of  moderate  drinking  parents  ; 
children  of  so  many  hopes,  and  solicitudes, 
and  prayers  ;  the  sin  of  drunkenness  apart, 
the  innocence  of  abstinence  apart,  here  are 
two  classes  of  men,  and  two  plans  of  life, 


<©  F    SPARKLING    DROPS. 

<each  proffered  for  your  approbation,  and  sub- 
knitted  for  "your  choice  :  The  one  class  use 
intoxicating  liquor,  moderately  indeed,  still 
they  use  intoxicating  liquor  in  some,  or  many 
•of  its  forms  ;  the  other  class  use  it  in  none  of 
them  :  The  one  class,  in  consequence  of  such 
use  of  intoxicating  liquor,  furnish  all  the 
drunkenness,  three-fourths  of  all  the  pauper- 
Ism,  and  five-sixths  of  all  the  crime,  under 
the  accumulating  and  accumulated  weight  of 
which,  our  country  already  groans.  Yes,  in 
•consequence  of  such  restricted  use  of  intoxi- 
cating liquors,  the  one  class  pays  an  annual 
tribute  in  muscle  and  sinew,  in  intellect  and 
virtue,  aye,  and  in  the  souls  of  men ;  a 
mighty  tribute,  embodied  in  the  persons  of 
Inebriates,  taken  from  the  ranks  of  temperate 
drinkers  and  delivered  over  to  the  jail,  the 
mad  house,  the  house  of  correction,  and  even 
the  house  of  silence  I 

The  other  class  pays  no  such  tribute  ;  no, 
nor  even  a  portion  of  it  The  other  burthens 
of  community  they  share  indeed,  in  common 
with  their  brethren  ;  a  portion  of  their  earn- 
ings goes  even  to  provide  and  furnish  those 


276  tf-BTE'    S-riVEB    CUP 

abodes  of  woe  and  death,  which  intoxicating: 
liquors  crowd  with  inmates  ;  but  the  inmates; 
themselves  are  all,  all  trained  in  the  society, 
instructed  in  the  maxims,  molded  by  the  cus- 
toms, and  finely  delivered  up  from  the  ranks 
of  the  oppOv  v,«  party  ;  the  moderate  drinking 
party. 

Now,  beloved  youth,  which  of  these  two 
modes  of  life  will  you  adopt  ?  To  which  of 
these  two  classes  will  you  attach  yourselves  ? 
Which,  think  you,  is  the  safest,  which  most 
noble,  patriotic,  Christian  ?  In  one  word, 
which  will  ensure  the  purest  bliss  on  earthy 
and  afford  the  fairest  prospect  of  admission 
into  heaven  ? 

For  the  mere  privilege  of  using  intoxica- 
ting liquors  moderately,  are  you  willing  to 
contribute  your  proportion  annually  to  peo- 
ple the  poor-house,  the  prison-house,  and  the 
grave-yard  ?  For  such  a  privilege,  are  you 
willing  to  give  up  to  death,  or  even  to  deli- 
rium tremens,  a  parent  this  year,  a  wife,  a 
child,  a  brother,  or  sister  the  next,  and  the 
year  thereafter  a  friend  or  neighbor  ?  Are 
you  willing  to  do  this,  and  having  done  it, 


OF    SPARKLING    DROPS. 

are  you  further  willing,  as  a  consequence,  to 
hear  the  mothers',  the  wives',  the  widows', 
and  the  orphans'  wailings,  on  account  of  mis- 
eries inflicted  by  a  system  deliberately  adop- 
ted by  your  choice,  sustained  by  your 
example,  and  perpetuated  by  your  influence  ; 
nor  to  hear  alone;  are  you  willing  to  see 
also  the  beggar's  rags,  the  convict's  fetters, 
and  those  other  and  more  hideous  forms  of 
guilt  and  misery,  the  product  of  intemper- 
ance, which  liken  men  to  demons,  and  earth 
to  hell ! 

That  frightful  outward  desolation  appa- 
rent in  the  person  and  the  home  of  the 
inebriate,  is  but  an  emblem  of  a  still  more 
frightful  inward  desolation.  The  comfortless 
abode,  the  sorrow-stricken  family,  the  tattered 
garments,  the  palsied  tread,  the  ghastly  coun- 
tenance, and  loathsome  aspect  of  the  habitual 
brutal  drunkard,  fills  us  with  abhorrence. 
We  shun  his  presence,  and  shrink  instinct- 
ively from  his  polluting  touch.  But  what 
are  all  these  sad  items,  which  affect  the  outer 
man  only,  in  comparison  with  the  blighted 
hopes,  the  withered  intellect,  the  debased 


S78  THE    SILVEK    CUP 

propensities,  the  brutal  appetites,  the  demo- 
niac passions,  the  defiled  conscience  ;  in  one 
word,  in  comparison  with  the  sadder  moral 
items  which  complete  the  frightful  spectacle 
of  a  soul  in  ruins  ;  a  soul  deserted  of  God, 
possessed  by  demons,  and  from  which  the 
last  lineaments  of  its  Maker's  image  have 
been  utterly  effaced  ;  a  soul  scathed  and 
riven,  and  standing  forth  already,  as  it  will 
hereafter  stand  forth,  frightful  amid  its  ruins, 
a  monument  of  wrath,  and  a  warning  to  the 
universe. 

Be  not  deceived,  nor  fear  to  take  the  di- 
mensions of  the  evils  that  threaten,  or  to 
look  that  destroyer  in  the  face,  which  you 
are  about  to  arm  against  yourselves.  Not 
the  solid  rock  withstands  for  ever  the  touch 
of  water  even,  much  less  the  living  fibre  that 
of  alcohol,  or  those  other  and  intenser  pois- 
ons mingled  with  it,  in  those  inebriating 
liquors  of  which  a  moiety  of  the  nation 
drinks.  The  habitual  use  of  such  liquors 
in  small  quantities,  prepares  the  way  for 
their  use  in  larger  quantities  ;  and  yet  larger 
quantities  progressively,  till  inebriation  is 


OF    SPARKLING    DROPS.  279 

produced.  Such  is  the  constitu^on  of  na- 
ture ;  it  is  preposterous  therefore  to  calculate 
upon  exemption.  Exceptions  indeed  there 
may  be ;  but  they  are  exceptions  merely. 
The  rule  is  otherwise.  If  you  live  an  ha- 
bitual drinker  of  such  liquors,  you  ought  to 
calculate  to  die  a  confirmed  drunkard  :  and 
that  your  children,  and  your  childrens'  child- 
ren, should  they  follow  your  example,  will 
die  confirmed  drunkards  also.  And  if  life 
shall  be  prolonged  to  them,  and  they  so  live, 
they  will  so  die,  unless  the  course  of  nature 
shall  be  changed. 

In  the  view  of  these  facts  and  arguments 
which  the  subject  before  you  presents,  make 
up  your  minds,  make  up  your  minds  deliber- 
ately, and  having  done  so,  say  whether  you 
are  willing  to  take  along  with  the  habitual 
moderate  use  of  intoxicating  liquors,  as 
bought  and  sold,  and  drank  among  us,  the 
appalling  consequences  that  must  result 
therefrom.  Are  you  willing  to  do  this  ?  and 
if  you  are  not,  stop,  —  stop  while  you  may, 
and  where  you  can.  In  this  descent  to  Ha- 
des there  is  no  half-way  house,  no  central 


280     .  THE    SJLVER    CTJP 

resting  place.  The  movement  once  commen- 
ced, is  ever  onward,  and  downward.  The 
thirst  created  is  quenchless,  the  appetite  in- 
duced insatiable.  You  may  not  live  to  com- 
plete the  process  —  but  this  know,  that  it  is 
naturally  progressive,  and  that  with  every 
successive  sip  from  the  fa,tal  chalice,  it  ad- 
vances, imperceptibly  indeed,  still  it  advances 
toward  completion.  Yon  demented  sot,  once 
a  moderate  drinker,  occupied  the  ground  you 
now  occupy,  and  looked  down  on  former 
sots,  as  you,  a  moderate  drinker,  now  look 
down  on  him,  and  as  future  moderate  drink- 
ers may  yet  look  down  on  you,  and  wonder. 

"Facilis  decensus  averni." 

Let  it  never  be  forgotten  that  we  are  social 
beings.  No  man  liveth  to  himself;  on  the 
contrary,  grouped  together  in  various  ways, 
each  acts,  and  is  acted  on  by  others.  Though 
living  at  the  distance  of  so  many  generations, 
we  feel  even  yet,  and  in  its  strength,  the 
effect  of  the  first  transgression.  Now,  as  for- 
merly, it  is  the  nature  of  vice,  as  well  as  vir- 
tue, to  extend  and  perpetuate  itself.  Now, 
as  formerly,  the  existing  generation  is  giving 


OF    SPARKLING    J>ROPS.  28-1 

the  impress  of  its  character  to  the  generation 
which  is  to  follow  it  —  and  now%  as  formerly, 
parents  are  by  their  conduct,  and  their  coun- 
sel, either  weaving  crowns  to  signalize  their 
offspring  in  the  heavens,  or  forging  chains  to 
be  worn  by  them  in  hell. 

Hearer,  time  is  on  the  wing,  death  is  at 
hand  :  Act  now,  therefore,  the  part  that  you 
will  in  that  hour  approve,  and  reprobate  the 
conduct  you  will  then  condemn. 

It  has  not  been  usual  for  the  speaker,  as 
it  has  for  some  others,  to  bespeak  the  influ- 
ence of  those  who  constitute  the  most  numer- 
ous, as  well  as  most  efficient  part  of  almost 
every  assembly,  where  self-denials  are  called 
for,  or  questions  of  practical  duty  discussed. 
And  yet,  no  one  is  more  indebted  than  my- 
self, to  the  kind  of  influence  in  question. 

Under  God,  I  owe  my  early  education, 
nay,  all  that  I  have  been,  or  am,  to  the  coun- 
sel and  tutelage  of  a  pious  mother.  It  was, 
peace  to  her  sainted  spirit,  it  was  her  moni- 
tory voice,  that  first  taught  my  young  heart 
to  feel  that  there  was  danger  in  the  intoxica- 
ting cup,  and  that  safety  lay  in  abstinence* 


232  THE    SILVER    CUP 

And  as  no  one  is  more  indebted  than  my- 
self, to  the  kind  of  influence  in  question,  so 
no  one  more  fully  realizes  how  decisively  it 
"bears  upon  the  destinies  of  others. 

Full  well  I  know,  that  by  woman  came 
the  apostacy  of  Adam,  and  by  woman,  the 
recovery  through  Jesus.  It  was  a  woman 
that  imbued  the  mind,  and  formed  the  char- 
acter of  Moses,  Israel's  deliverer  —  It  was  a 
woman  that  led  the  choir,  and  gave  back 
the  response  of  that  triumphal  procession, 
which  went  forth  to  celebrate  with  timbrels, 
on  the  banks  of  the  Red  Sea,  the  overthrow 
of  Pharaoh  —  It  was  a  woman  that  put  Sis- 
era  to  flight,  that  composed  the  song  of  De- 
borah and  Barak,  the  son  of  Abinoam,  and 
judged  in  righteousness,  for  years,  the  tribes 
of  Israel  —  It  was  a  woman  that  defeated  the 
wicked  counsels  of  Hainan,  delivered  right- 
eous Mordecai,  and  saved  a  whole  people 
from  utter  desolation. 

And  not  now  to  speak  of  Semiramis  at 
Babylon,  of  Catharine  of  Russia,  or  of  those 
Queens  of  England,  whose  joyous  reigns  con- 
stitute the  brightest  periods  of  British 


OF    SPARKLING    D  ft  OPS.  283 

history,  or  of  her,  the  young  and  lovely,  the 
patron  of  learning  and  morals,  who  now 
adorns  the  throne  of  the  sea-girt  Isles ;  not 
now  to  speak  of  these,  there  are  others  of 
more  sacred  character,  of  whom  it  were 
admissible  even  now  to  speak. 

The  sceptre  of  empire  is  not  the  sceptre 
that  best  befits  the  hand  of  woman  ;  nor  is 
the  field  of  carnage  her  field  of  glory. 
Home,  sweet  home,  is  her  theatre  of  action, 
her  pedestal  of  beauty,  and  throne  of  power. 
Or  if  seen  abroad,  she  is  seen  to  the  best  ad- 
vantage when  on  errands  of  love,  and 
wearing  her  robe  of  mercy. 

It  was  not  woman  who  slept  during  the 
agonies  of  Gethsemane ;  it  was  not  woman 
who  denied  her  Lord  at  the  palace  of  Caia- 
phas  ;  it  was  not  woman  who  deserted  his 
cross  on  the  hill  of  Calvary.  But  it  was 
woman  that  dared  to  testify  her  respect  for 
his  corse,  that  procured  spices  for  embalming 
it,  and  that  was  found  last  at  night,  and  first 
in  the  morning,  at  his  sepulchre.  Time  has 
neither  impaired  her  kindness,  shaken  her 
constancy,  or  changed  her  character. 


284  THE    SILVER    CUP 

Now,  as  formerly,  she  is  most  ready  to  en- 
ter, and  most  reluctant  to  leave,  the  abode  of 
misery.  Now,  as  formerly,  it  is  her  office, 
and  well  it  has  been  sustained,  to  stay  the 
fainting  head,  wipe  from  the  dim  eye  the 
tear  of  anguish,  and  from  the  cold  forehead 
the  dew  of  death. 

This  is  not  unmerited  praise.  I  have  too 
much  respect  for  the  character  of  woman,  to 
use,  even  elsewhere,  the  language  of  adula- 
tion, and  too  much  self-respect  to  use  such 
language  here.  I  would  not,  if  I  could,  per- 
suade those  of  the  sex  who  hear  me,  to 
become  the  public,  clamorous  advocates,  of 
even  temperance.  It  is  the  influence  of  their 
declared  approbation  ;  of  their  open,  willing, 
visible  example,  enforced  by  that  soft,  per- 
suasive, colloquial  eloquence,  which,  in  some 
hallowed  retirement,  and  chosen  moments, 
exerts  such  controling  influence  over  the 
hard,  cold  heart  of  man  ;  especially  over  a 
husband's,  a  son's,  or  a  brother's  heart ;  it  is 
this  influence,  which  we  need ;  an  influence, 
chiefly  known  by  the  gradual,  kindly  trans- 
formation of  character  it  produces,  and 


OF    SPAHKLIKG    D  II  OPS.  285 

which,  in  its  benign  effects,  may  be  compared 
to  the  noiseless,  balmy  influence  of  spring, 
shedding,  as  it  silently  advances,  renovation 
over  every  hill,  and  dale,  and  glen,  and  islet, 
and  changing  throughout  the  whole  region 
of  animated  nature,  winter's  rugged  and  un- 
sightly forms,  into  the  forms  of  vernal 
loveliness  and  beauty. 

No,  I  repeat  it,  I  would  not,  if  I  could, 
persuade  those  of  the  sex  who  hear  me,  to 
become  the  public,  clamorous  advocates  of 
temperance.  It  is  not  yours,  to  wield  the 
club  of  Hercules,  or  bend  Achilles'  bow. 
But,  though  it  is  not,  still  you  have  a  heaven- 
appointed  armor,  as  well  as  a  heaven-appro- 
ved theatre  of  action.  The  look  of  tender- 
ness, the  eye  of  compassion,  the  lip  of 
entreaty,  are  yours  ;  and  yours  too,  are  the 
decisions  of  taste,  and  yours,  the  omnipotence 
of  fashion.  You  can  therefore,  I  speak  of 
those  who  have  been  the  favorites  of  fortune, 
and  who  occupy  the  high  places  of  society ; 
you  can  change  the  terms  of  social  inter- 
course, and  alter  the  current  opinions  of 
community.  You  can  remove,  at  once  and 


286  THE    SILVER    CtTP 

for  ever,  temptation  from  the  saloon,  the 
drawing-room,  and  the  dining-table.  This  is 
your  empire,  the  empire  over  which  God  and 
the  usages  of  mankind  have  given  you  do- 
minion. Here,  within  these  limits,  and  with- 
out transgressing  that  modesty,  which  is 
Heaven's  own  gift,  and  woman's  brightest  or- 
nament, you  may  exert  a  benign  and  kindly 
but  mighty  influence.  Here  you  have  but  to 
speak  the  word,  and  one  chief  source  of  the 
mothers',  the  wives',  and  the  widows'  sorrows, 
will,  throughout  the  circle  in  which  you 
move,  be  dried  up  for  ever.  Nor,  through- 
out that  circle  only.  The  families  around 
you,  and  beneath  you,  will  feel  the  influence 
of  your  example,  descending  on  them  in  bles- 
sings, like  the  dews  of  heaven  that  descend 
on  the  mountains  of  Zion  ;  and  drunkenness, 
loathsome,  brutal  drunkenness,  driven  by  the 
moral  power  of  your  decision,  from  all  the 
abodes  of  reputable  society,  will  be  compeled 
to  exist,  if  it  exist  at  all,  only  among  those 
vulgar  and  ragged  wretches,  who,  -shunning 
the  society  of  women,  herd  together  in  the 
bar  room,  the  oyster  cellar,  and  the  groggery 


OF    SPARKLING    DROPS.  287 

This,  indee'd,  were  a  mighty  triumph,  and 
this,  at  least,  you  can  achieve.  Why,  then, 
should  less  than  this  be  achieved  ?  To  purify 
the  conscience,  to  bind  up  the  broken-hearted, 
to  remove  temptation  from  the  young,  to 
minister  consolation  to  the  aged,  and  kindle 
joy  in  every  bosomy  throughout  her  appointed 
theatre  of  action,  befits  alike  a  woman's,  and 
a  mother's  agency,  —  and,  since  God  has  put 
it  in  your  power  to  do  so  much,  are.  you 
willing  to  be  responsible  for  the  consequences 
of  leaving  it  undone  ? 

Are  you  willing  to  see  this  tide  of  woe, 
and  death,  whose  flow  you  might  arrest,  roll 
onward  by  you  to  posterity,  increasing  as  it 
rolls  for  ever  ? 

O  !  no,  you  are  not,  I  am  sure  you  are  not ; 
and  if  not,  then,  ere  you  leave  these  altars, 
lift  up  your  heart  to  God,  and  in  his  strength, 
form  the  high  resolve,  to  purify  from  drunk- 
enness this  city.  And,  however  elsewhere, 
others  may  hesitate,  and  waver,  and  defery 
and  temporize,  take  you  the  open,  noble 
stand,  of  ABSTINENCE  ;  and  having  taken  it, 
cause  it  by  your  words,  and  by  your  d*eeds, 


288  THE    SILVER    0  U  £ 

to  be  known  on  earth  and  told  in  heaven, 
that  mothers  have  dared  to  do  their  duty, 
their  whole  duty,  and  that,  within  the  pre- 
cincts of  that  consecrated  spot,  over  which 
their  balmy,  hallowed  influence  extends,  the 
doom  of  drunkenness  is  sealed. 

Nor  mothers  only ;  in  this  benign  and 
holy  enterprise,  the  daughter  and  the  mother, 
alike  are  interested. 

Ye  young,  might  the  speaker  be  permitted 
to  address  you,  as  well  as  your  honored  pa- 
rents, and  those  teachers,  their  assistants, 
whose  delightful  task  it  is  to  bring  forward 
the  unfolding  germs  of  thought,  and  teach 
the  young  idea  how  to  shoot,  —  might  the 
speaker,  whose  chief  concernment  hitherto, 
has  been  the  education  of  the  young,  be  per- 
mitted to  address  you,  he  would  bespeak 
your  influence,  your  urgent,  persevering  in- 
fluence, in  behalf  of  a  cause  so  pure,  so  full 
of  mercy,  and  so  every  way  befitting  your 
age,  your  sex,  your  character. 

O  !  could  the  speaker  make  a  lodgment, 
an  effectual  lodgment,  in  behalf  of  temper- 
ance* within  those  young,  warm,  generous, 


\>F    SPARKLING   -DROPS.  589 

Active  hearts  within  his  hearing,  or  rather 
within  the  city,  where  it  is  his  privilege  to 
speak,  who  this  side  Heaven  could  calculate 
the  blessed,  mighty,  enduring  consequence? 
Could  this  be  done,  then  might  the  eye  of 
angels  rest  with  increased  complacency  on 
this  commercial  metropolis,  already  signalized 
by  Christian  charity,  as  well  as  radiant  with 
intellectual  glory ;  —  but  then  lit  up  anew 
with  fire,  from  off  virtue's  own  altar,  and 
thus  caused  to  become,  amid  the  surrounding 
desolation  which  intemperance  has  occasioned, 
more  conspicuously  than  ever,  an  asylum  of 
mercy  to  the  wretched,  and  a  beacon  light 
of  promise  to  the  wanderer. 

Then  from  this  favored  spot,  as  from  some 
great  central  source  of  power,  encouragement 
might  be  given,  and  confidence  imparted  to 
the  whole  sisterhood  of  virtue,  and  a  redeem- 
ing influence  sent  forth  through  many  a  dis- 
tant town  and  hamlet,  to  mingle  with  other 
^nd  kindred  influences,  in  effecting  through- 
out the  land,  among  the  youth  of  both  sexes, 
that  moral  renovation  called  for,  and  which, 

13 


290  THE    SILVER    OUF 

when  realized,  will  be  at  once  the  earnest 
and  the  anticipation  of  millennial  glory. 

O!  could  we  gain  the  young,  the  young 
who  have  no  inveterate  prejudices  to  combat, 
no  established  habits  to  overcome  ;  could  we 
gain  the  young,  we  might,  after  a  single  gen- 
eration had  passed  away,  shut  up  the  dram 
shop,  the  bar  room,  and  the  rum-selling  gro- 
cery, and  by  shutting  these  up,  shut  up  also 
the  poor  house,  the  prison  house,  and  one  of 
the  broadest  and  most  frequented  avenues  to 
the  charnel  house. 

More  than  this,  could  we  shut  up  these 
licensed  dispensaries  of  crime,  disease,  and 
death,  we  might  abate  the  severity  of  mater- 
nal anguish,  restore  departed  joys  to  conjugal 
affection,  silence  the  cry  of  deserted  orphan^ 
age,  and  procure  for  the  poor  demented  sui- 
cide, a  respit  from  self-inflicted  vengeance. 

This,  the  gaining  of  the  young  to  absti- 
nence, would  constitute  the  mighty  fulcrumr 
on  which  to  plant  that  moral  lever  of  power> 
to  raise  a  world  from  degradation. 

O  !  how  the  clouds  would  scatter,  the  pros 
pect  brighten,  and  the  firmament  of  hope 


OF    SPARKLING    DROPS.  291 

clear  up,  could  the  young  be  gained,  intoxi- 
cating liquors  be  banished,  and  abstinence 
with  its  train  of  blessings  introduced  through- 
out the  earth. 


BY  MISS  MARY  ANN  BROWNE. 

Yesternight  I  prayed  aloud, 

In  anguish  and  in  agony ; 
Up-starting  from  the  fiencush  crowd 

Of  shapes  and  thoughts  that  tortured  me. 

COLRIDGE. 

I  had  a  dream"  in  the  dead  of  night, 

A  dream  of  agony; 
I  thought  the  world  stood  in  affright, 
Beneath  the  hot  and  parching  light 

Of  an  unclouded  sky; 
I  thought  there  had  fallen  no  cooling  rain 
For  months  upon  the  feverish  plain, 

And  that  all  the  springs  were  dry: 

And  I  was  standing  on  a  hill, 

And  looking  all  around: 
I  know  not  how  it  was  —  but  still 

Strength  in  my  limbs  was  found, 
As  if  with  a  spell  of  three-fold  life 

My  destinies  were  bound. 


292  THE    SILVER    OUP 

Beneatli  me  was  a  far-spread  heath, 

Where  once  had  risen  a  spring, 
Looking  as  bright  as  a  silver  wreath 

In  its  graceful  wandering: 
But  now  the  sultry  glance  of  the  sun, 

And  the  glare  of  the  dark  blue  sky, 
Had  checked  its  course,  —  no  more  to  run 

In  light  waves  wandering  by. 

And  farther  on  was  a  stately  wood, 

With  its  tall  trees  rising  high: 
But  now  like  autumn  wrecks  they  stood 

Beneath  a  summer  sky: 
And  every  leaf,  though  dead,-  did  keep 

Its  station  there  in  mockery; 
For  there  was  not  one  breath  to  sweep 

The  leaves  from  each  perishing  tree; 
And  there  they  hung,  dead,  motionless; 

They  hung  there  day  by  day, 
As  though  death  were  too  busy  with  other  things 

To  sweep  their  corpses  away. 

Oh,  terrible  it  was  to  think 

Of  human  creatures  then ! 
How  they  did  seek  in  vain  for  drink, 

In  every  vale  and  glen; 
And  how  the  hot,  scorched  foot  did  shrink 

As  it  touched  the  slippery  plain; 
And  some  had  gathered  beneath  the  trees, 

In  hope  of  finding  shade; 


OF    SPARKLING     DROPS.  293 

But,  alas!  there  was  not  a  single  breeze 
Astir  in  an}7  glade! 

The  cities  were  forsaken, 

For  their  marble  wells  were  spent; 
And  their  walls  gave  back  the  scorching  glare 

Of  that  hot  firmament: 
But  the  corses  of  those  who  died  were  strewn 

In  the  street,  as  dead  leaves  lay, 
And  dry  they  withered  —  and  withered  alone 

They  felt  no  foul  decay; 

Night  came.     The  fiery  sun  sank  down, 
And  the  people's  hope  grew  strong: 
It  was  a  night  without  a  moon, 
It  was  a  night  in  the  depth  of  June, 

And  there  swept  a  wind  along; 
T  was  almost  cool:  and  then  they  thought 
Some  blessed  dew  it  would  have  brought. 

Vain  was  the  hope!  there  was  no  cloud 

In  the  clear  dark  blue  heaven; 
But,  bright  and  beautiful,  the^crowd 

Of  stars  looked  through  the  even. 
And  women  sat  them  down  to  weep 

Over  their  hopeless  pain; 
And  men  had  visions  dark  and  deep, 

Clouding  the  dizzy  brain; 
And  children  sobbed  themselves  to  sleep, 

And  never  woke  again! 


294  THE    SILVER    OUP 

The  morning  came  —  not  as  it  comes 
Softly  'midst  rose  and  dew  — 

Not  with  those  cool  and  fresh  perfumes 
That  the  weariest  heart  renew; 

—  But  the  sun  sprang  up,  as  if  eager  to  see 
What  next  his  power  could  do! 

A  mother  held  her  child  to  her  breast, 

And  kissed  it  tenderly, 
And  then  she  saw  her  infant  smile; 

What  could  that  soft  smile  be? 
A  tear  had  sprung  with  a  sudden  start 

To  her  hot,  feverish  eye; 
It  had  fallen  upon  that  faint  child's  lip 

That  was  so  parched  and  dry. 

I  looked  upon  the  mighty  sea; 

Oh,  what  a  sight  it  was! 
All  its  waves  were  gone,  save  two  or  three, 

That  lay,  like  burning  glass, 
Within  the  caves  of  those  deep  rocks 

Where  no  human  foot  could  pass. 

And  in  the  very  midst,  a  ship 

Lay  in  the  slime  and  sand; 
With  all  its  sailors  perishing, 

Even  in  sight  of  land; 
Oh,  water  had  been  a  welcome  sight 

To  that  pale  dying  band! 


*>F    SPARKLING    DROPS.  295 

Oh,  what  a  sight  was  the  bed  of  the  seal 

The  bed  where  he  had  slept, 
Or  tossed  and  tumbled  restlessly, 

And  all  his  treasures  kept 
For  ages:  he  was  gone;  and  all 

His  rocky  pillows  shown, 
With  their  clustering  shells,  and  sea-weed  pall, 

And  their  rich  gems  round  them  thrown. 

And  the  monsters  of  the  deep  lay  dead, 

With  many  a  human  form, 
That  there  had  found  a  quiet  bed, 

Away  from  the  raging  storm; 
And  the  fishes,  sodden  in  the  sun, 

Were  strewn  by  thousands  round; 
And  a  myriad  things,  long  lost  and  won, 

Were  there,  unsought  for  found. 

I  turned  away  from  earth  and  sea, 

And  looked  on  the  burning  sky, 
But  no  drop  fell,  like  an  angel's  tear  — 

The  founts  of  heaven  were  dry: 
The  birds  had  perished  every  one} 

Not  a  cloud  was  in  the  air, 
And  desolate  seemed  the  veiy  SUB, 

He  looked  PO  lonely  there! 

And  I  began  to  feel  the  pang,  — 
The  agooy  of  thirst; 


296  THE    SILVER 


I  had  a  scorching,  swelling  pain, 

As  if  my  heart  would  burst: 
My  tongue  was  parched;  I  strove  to  speak  —  * 

The  spell  that  instant  broke; 
And,  starting  at  my  own  wild  shriek,  — 

In  mercy  I  awoke! 


nor  <f  irl  cn&  tjp 


**  Sleep,  saintly  poor  one!  sleep,  sleep,  on, 
And  waking,  find  thy  labors  done." 

CHARLES  LAMB. 

WE  never  remember  seeing  any  notice  of 
the  dear  old  legend  we  are  about  to  relate,, 
save  in  some  brief  and  exquisite  lines  lay 
Charles  Lamb  ;  and  yet,  how  simply  and 
quaintly  it  confirms  our  childhood's  faith,, 
when  heaven  seemed  so  much  nearer  to  earth 
than  it  had  ever  been  since  ;  and  we  verily 
believed  that  angels  watched  over  the  good 
and  pure  of  heart  ! 

Once  upon  a  time,  in  a  far  off  country- 
place,  a  girl,  whose  name  we  shall  call  Alice^ 
lived  with  an  aged  and  bed-rid  mother,, 
dependent  upon  her  exertions  for  their  solo* 


OF    SPARKLING    DROPS.         297 

support.  And  although  at  all  periods  they 
fared  hardly  enough,  and  sometimes  even 
wanted  for  bread,  Alice  never  suffered  her- 
self to  be  cast  down,  placing  her  whole  trust 
in  Him  who  "  tempers  the  wind  to  the  shorn 
lamb."  And  when  better  days  came  again, 
who  so  glad  and  thankful  as  that  young 
girl? 

It  may  be  all  very  pretty  and  picturesque 
for  poets  and  artists  to  picture  to  themselves 
calm,  peaceful  scenes  of  rural  loveliness ;  in 
the  foreground  of  which*  they  place  some 
happy  village  maid,  sitting  in  the  cottage 
porch,  at  the  sunset  hour,  and  singing  mer- 
rily at  her  wheel ;  even  as  bright-eyed  and 
glad-hearted  damsels  of  our  own  times  take 
up  their  sewing,  only  as  a  pleasant  excuse  to 
be  silent  and  alone,  that  they  may  indulge  in 
sweet  and  gentle  musing.  But  let  us  not  for- 
get that  which  is  as  a  pastime  to  the  few, 
may  be  to  the  many  a  weary  and  never-end- 
ing toil,  engrossing  the  day  that  seems  so 
long,  and  yet  is  not  half  long  enough  for  all 
they  have  to  do  ;  breaking  into  the  quiet 
hours  set  apart  by  nature  for  rest,  and 

13* 


298  THE     SILVER     OUP 

mingling  even  with  their  troubled  dreams. 
Thus  it  was  oftentimes  with  our  heroine  and 
yet  she  sang,  too,  but  generally  hymns,  for 
such  sprang  most  readily  to  her  lips,  and 
seemed  most  in  harmony  with  her  lonely  and 
toilsome  life  —  while  her  aged  mother 
would  lie  for  hours,  listening  to  what  seemed 
to  her  a  gush  of  sweet  and  prayerful  music, 
and  not  questioning  but  the  songs  of  the 
good  on  earth  might  be  heard  and  echoed 
by  the  angels  in  heaven  !  Poor  child  !  it 
was  sad  to  see  th*e  toil  so  hard  —  but  beau- 
tiful to  mark  thy  filial  devotion  and  untiring 
love  —  thy  thankfulness  to  have  the  work  to 
do,  otherwise  both  must  have  starved  long 
since  !  Thy  trust  in  Providence,  that  for  her 
sake  it  would  give  thee  strength  for  thy  la- 
borious tasks  —  the  hope  that  would  not  die, 
of  better  times  —  the  faith  that  grew  all  the 
brighter  and  purer  through  trials  —  the  store 
of  sweet  and  pious  thoughts  that  brought 
thee  such  pleasant  comfort,  and  gave  wings 
to  many  a  weary  hour  of  earthly  toil. 

For  years  Alice  had  contrived  to  lay  by 
enough  to  pay  the  rent  of  their  little  cottage 


'OF    SPARKLING    DBOPS.  299 

ready  against  tke  period  when  it  should  be- 
come due  ;  but  now,  either  from  the  wid- 
ow's long  illness,  or  the  hardness  of  the 
times,  which  ever  presses  in  seasons  of  na- 
tional or  commercial  difficulty  most  heavily 
upon  those  least  able  to  struggle  against  its 
additional  weight,  the  day  came  round  and 
found  her  unprepared.  It  so  happened  that 
the  old  landlord  was  dead,  and  his  successor 
Dne  of  those  stern  mea,  who  without  being 
actually  hard-hearted,  have  a  peculiar  creed 
of  their  own  with  regard  to  the  poor,  which 
they  are  never  weary  of  repeating ;  holding 
poveity  to  be  but  as  another  name  for  idle- 
ness, or  even  crime  I  a  baneful  error  which 
lias  done  much  to  plunge  its  unhappy  victims 
into  their  present  fallen  condition  ;  and  yet 
even  lie  was  touched  by  her  tears,  and  meek 
deprecating  words,  and  consented  to  give  her 
one  week's  grace,  in  which  she  reckoned  to 
have  finished  and  got  paid  for  the  work  she 
then  had  in  the  house.  And  although  the 
girl  knew,  that  in  order  to  effect  this,  she 
must  work  day  and  night,  she  dared  not  ask 


300  THE    SILVER    CUP 

a  longer  delay,  and  was  even  grateful  to  him 
for  granting  Iier  request. 

"  It  will  be  a  lesson  to  her  not  to  be  be- 
hind-hand  in  future,"  thought  her  stern  land- 
lord, when  he  found  himself  alone ;  "  no 
doubt  the  girl  has  been  idling  of  late,  or, 
spending  her  money  on  that  pale-colored 
hood,  she  wore,  (although,  sooth  to  say,  no- 
thing could  have  been  more  becoming  to  her 
delicate  complexion,)  instead  of  having  it 
ready  as  usual."  And  yet,  sleeping,  or  wa- 
•king,  her  grateful  thanks  haunted  him 
strangely,  almost  winning  him  to  gentler 
thoughts  —  we  say  almost,  for  deep-rooted 
prejudices  such  as  his,  were  hard  —  very 
hard  —  very  hard  to  overcome. 

Alice  returned  home  with  a  light  heart. 

"  Well  ? "  said  the  widow,  anxiously. 

"  All  right,  dear  mother  ;  with  God's  bles- 
sing we  will  keep  the  dear  old  cottage  in 
which  you  tell  me  you  were  born." 

"And  hope  to  die—" 

"  Not  yet  —  not  yet,  dear  mother  !  "  ex- 
claimed the  girl,  passionately.  "  What  would 


OF    SPARKLIKG    DROPS.  301 

become  of  your  poor  Alice,  if  she  were  to 
lose  you  ? " 

"And  yet,  I  am  but  a  burden  on  your 
young  life  —  " 

"  No,  no  —  a  blessing  rather  !  " 

Alice  was  light ;  labor  and  toil  only  ask 
an  object  —  something  to  love,  and  care  and 
work  for,  to  make  it  endurable,  and  even 
sweet !  And  then  kissing  her  mother,  but 
not  saying  a  word  of  all  she  had  to  do,  the 
girl  took  off  the  well-preserved  hood  and 
cloak,  which  had  given  rise  to  such  unjust 
animadversions,  and  putting  them  carefully 
aside,  sat  down,  in  a  hopeful  spirit,  to  her 
wheel.  The  dark  cloud  which  had  hiing 
over  her  in  the  morning,  seemed  already 
breaking,  she  could  even  fancy  the  blue  sky 
again  in  the  distance. 

All  that  day  she  only  moved  from  her 
work  to  prepare  their  simple  meals,  or  wait 
upon  the  helpless  but  unselfish  invalid,  who, 
but  for  the  eyes  of  watchful  love  ever  bent 
upon  her,  would  have  striven  painfully  to 
perform  many  a  little  duty  for  herself,  rather 
than  tax  those  willing  hands,  always  so  ready 


302  THE    SILVER    CUP 

to  labor  in  her  behalf.  And  when  night 
came,  fearing  to  cause  that  dear  mother  need- 
less anxiety,  Alice  lay  down  quietly  by  her 
side,  watching  until  she  had  fallen  asleep ; 
and  then  rising  noiselessly,  returned  to  her 
endless  tasks.  And  yet,  somehow,  the  harder 
she  worked,  the  more  it  seemed  to  grow  be- 
neath her  weary  fingers  ;  the  real  truth  of 
the  matter  was,  she  had  over-rated  her  own 
powers,  and  was  unaware  of  the  much  longer 
time  it  would  take  for  the  completion  of  the 
labor  than  she  had  allowed  herself.  But  it 
was  too  late  to  think  of  all  this  now ;  the 
trial  must  be  made,  and  Heaven,  she  doubted 
not,  would  give  her  strength  to  go  through 
with  it.  Oh  !  happy  —  thrice  happy  !  are 
they  who  have  deserved  to  possess  this  pure 
and  child-like  faith,  shedding  its  gentle  light 
on  the  darkest  scenes  of  life. 

Morning  broke  at  length  over  the  distant 
hills  ;  and  Alice,  flinging  open  the  casement, 
felt  refreshed  by  the  cool  breeze,  and  glad- 
dened by  the  hymning  of  "the  birds  already 
up  and  at  their  orisons  ;  exchanging  a  kind 
of  good  morrow  with  the  peasants  going 


OF    SPAHKLIKG    DROPS.  oOo 

forth  to  their  early  labor.  No  wonder  that 
those  rough,  untutored  men,  gazing  upward 
on  her  pale  calm  face,  and  listening  to  her 
gentle  tone,  felt  a  sort  of  superstitious  rever- 
ence in  their  hearts,  as  though  there  was  a 
blessing  in  that  kindly  greeting  which  boded 
of  good. 

The  widow  noticed  with  that  quick-sight- 
edness  of  affection,  which  even  the  blind 
seem  gifted  with,  in  the  presence  of  those 
they  love,  that  her  child  looked,  if  possible, 
a  thought  paler  than  usual ;  and  for  all  the 
bright  smile  that  met  hers  every  time,  Alice, 
feeling  conscious  of  her  gaze,  looked  up  from 
her  work,  marked  how  wearily  the  heavy 
eyelids  drooped  over  the  aching  eyes,  and 
yet  she  never  dreamed  of  the  deception 
which  had  been  practised  in  love,  to  soothe 
and  allay  her  fond  anxiety  ;  and  the  girl  was 
well  content  that  it  should  be  so. 

It  so  happened,  that  about  noon,  as  she 
sat  spinning  in  the  cottage  porch,  the  new 
landlord  passed  that  way  on  horseback,  and 
was  struck  with  her  sad  and  wearied  looks — 
for  of  late  she  had  indeed  toiled  beyond  her 


304  THE    SILVER    CUP 

strength,  and  this  additional  fatigue  was  al- 
most too  much  for  her.  But  still  that  stern 
man  said  with  himself,  "  It  is  ever  thus  with 
the  poor,  they  work  hard  when  actually 
obliged  to  do  so,  and  it  is  a  just  punishment 
for  their  improvidence  and  idleness  at  other 
times.  And  yet,"  he  added  a  moment  after, 
as  he  turned  his  horse's  head,  half-lingeringly, 
"  she  is  very  young,  too." 

Alice  looked  up  at  the  sound  of  retreating 
footsteps,  but  too  late  for  her  to  catch  that 
half-relenting  glance,  or  it  might  have  en- 
couraged her  to  ask  an  extension  of  the  time 
allotted  her  —  aye,  even  if  it  were  but  one 
single  day  —  but  he  had  passed  on  ere  the 
timid  girl  could  banish  from  her  mind  the 
fearful  remembrance  of  his  former  harshness. 

Another  weary  day  and  sleepless  night 
glided  on  thus,  and  the  third  evening  found 
her  still  at  her  spinning,  with  the  same  smile 
on  her  lips,  and  hope  and  trust  in  her  breast, 

"  Is  there  nothing  that  I  can  do  to  help 
you,  my  Alice  ? "  asked  her  mother,  who 
grieved  to  see  her  obliged  to  toil  so  hard. 

"  Nothing  —  unless,  indeed,  you  will  tell 


OF    SPARKLING    DROPS.  305 

me  some  tale  of  old  times,  as  you  used  to 
years  ago,  when  I  was  a  child." 

"  Why,  you  are  but  a  child  now,"  said  the 
widow,  with  a  mournful  smile  :  and  then  in- 
wardly comparing  her  lot  with  that  of  other 
girls  of  her  age,  she  relapsed  into  a  train  of 
sad  and  silent  musings,  and  Alice  knew  that 
they  were  sad,  by  the  quivering  lip  and 
contracted  brow. 

u  Come,  mother,  dear !  "  said  she,  "  I  am 
waiting  to  hear  your  story." 

And  then  the  widow  began  to  relate  some 
simple  reminiscences  of  by-gone  times,  pos- 
sessing a  strange  interest  for  that  lonely  girl, 
who  knew  so  little  of  life  save  in  these 
homely  and  transient  revealings,  falling 
asleep  in  the  midst  through  weariness,  for 
she  ever  grew  weak  and  exhausted  as  night 
came  on ;  but  presently  awoke  again  half- 
bewildered. 

"  Where  was  I,  Alice  ?  "  asked  the  invalid, 
gently. 

"  Asleep,  dear  mother  !  I  was  in  hopes  J* 
replied  her  companion,  with  a  smile, 


300  THE    SILVER    CUP 

"  Oil !  forgive  me,  I  could  not  help  it.  But 
you  will  not  sit  up  very  long  ? " 

"  No,  no  !  good  night." 
"  Good  night,  and  God  bless  you  my  child  ! " 
said  the  widow ;  and  a  few  minutes  afterward, 
Alice  was  again  the  only  wakeful  thing  in 
that  little  cottage,  if  indeed  she  could  be 
called  so  with  half-closed  eyes,  and  wander- 
ing thoughts,  although  it  is  true  the  busy 
fingers,  toiled  on  mechanically  at  fheir  task. 
The  very  clock  ticked  with  a  dull  drowsy 
sound,  and  the  perpetual  whizzing  of  her 
wheel  seemed  like  a  lullaby. 

Presently  the  girl  began  to  sing  in  a  low 
voice,  in  order  to  keep  herself  awake,  hymns 
as  usual  —  low,  plaintive,  and  soothing ; 
while  the  widow  heard  them  in  her  sleep, 
and  dreamed  of  heaven.  But  all  would  not 
do,  and  she  arose  at  length  and  walked  noise- 
lessly up  and  down  the  room,  trying  to  shake 
off  the  drowsy  feeling  that  oppressed  and 
weighed  down  upon  her  so  heavily.  And 
then  opening  the  casement,  she  sat  by  it  to 
catch  the  cool  breath  of  night  upon  her  fe- 
vered brow,  and  watch  the  myriad 


OF    SPARKLING    DROPS.  307 

looking  down  in  their  calm  and  silent  beauty 
upon  earth.  How  naturally  prayer  comes  at 
such  times  as  these.  Alice  clasped  her  faded 
hands  involuntarily,  and  although  no  words 
were  uttered,  her  heart  prayed !  We  have 
called  her  in  our  love,  pure  and  innocent ; 
"but  she,  of  her  holier  wisdom,  knew  that  she 
was  but  a  weak  and  erring  creature  after  all, 
and  took  courage  only  from  remembering 
that  there  is  One  who  careth  even  for  the 
very  flowers  of  the  field,  and  how  much 
more  for  the  children  of  earth.  But  grad 
ually  as  she  sat  thus  in  the  pale  star-light, 
the  white  lids  drooped  over  the  heavy  eyes  ; 
her  hands  unclasped  and  sunk  slowly  and 
listlessly  down ;  the  weary  and  toilworn 
frame  had  found  rest  at  last ! 

And  then  the  room  seemed  filled  on  a  sud- 
den with  a  strange  brightness,  and  where 
poor  Alice  had  sat  first  while  at  her  wheel, 
is  an  angel  with  shining  hair,  and  white  and 
radiant  as  a  sunbeam ;  while  another  bends 
gently  over  the  slumberer,  and  looking  first 
at  her,  and  then  on  her  companion,  smiles 
pityingly  ;  and  the  girl  smiles  too  in  her 


308  THE    SILVEE    CUP 

sleep  ;  and,  as  if  still  haunted  by  her  favorite 
hymn  tunes,  sings  again  very  faintly  and 
sweetly,  until  the  sounds  die  lingeringly 
away  at  length  upon  the  still  night  air.  Fast 
and  noiselessly  ply  these  holy  ones  at  their 
love  task,  while  the  whizzing  of  the  busy 
wheel,  accompanied  by  a  gentle  rushing 
sound,  as  of  wings,  alone  disturbed  the  pro- 
found silence  of  that  little  chamber.  And 
now  morning  broke  again  over  the  earth,  and 
their  mission  performed,  they  have  sped 
away  to  their  bright  home  rejoicingly  ! 

Alice  awoke  trembling  from  her  long  and 
refreshing  slumber,  thinking  how  she  must 
work  doubly  hard  to  redeem  those  lost 
hours.  She  drew  her  wheel  toward  her  — 
she  looked  wildly  at  it,  rubbing  her  eyes  to 
be  sure  she  was  not  dreaming ;  then  gazed 
around  the  quiet  apartment  where  all  re- 
mained just  as  she  had  left  it ;  but  the  task 
for  which  she  had  marked  out  four  more 
weary  days  and  nights  of  toil,  and  feared 
even  then  not  having  time  enough  to  complete 
it,  lay  ready  finished  before  her  !  But  after 
a  little  while  the  girl  ceased  to  wonder,  on 


OF    SPARKLING    DROPS.          309 

remembering  to  whom  she  had  prayed  on 
the  previous  night ;  guided  by  an  unerring 
instinct  she  knelt  down  and  poured  out  her 
full  heart  in  a  gush  of  prayerful  thanks- 
giving to  Heaven  !  And  we  can  almost 
fancy  the  angels  standing  a  little  way  off 
smiling  upon  each  other  and  on  her,  even 
as  they  had  done  before,  and  rejoicing  -in 
their  own  work. 

We  are  told  in  the  legend,  that  from 
that  hour  the  widow  and  her  good  and 
pious  child  never  knew  want  again.  It  may 
be,  that  Alice's  employer  was  pleased  with 
her  diligence  and  punctuality  ;  or  the  stern 
landlord,  shamed  out  of  his  prejudices  by 
the  unlooked-for  appearance  of  the  glowing 
and  happy  face  of  his  tenant,  three  days 
before  the  appointed  time,  with  the  money 
ready  and  many  grateful  thanks  beside,  for 
what  she  termed  his  kindness  in  waiting  so 
long  for  it ;  or  there  was  a  charm  in  that 
web  woven  by  holy  hands,  which  brought 
Alice  many  more  such  tasks,  with  better 
payment,  and  longer  time  to  complete  them 
in.  The  only  thing  that  makes  us  sad  in 


310  THE    SILVER    CtJP 

this  simple  and  beautiful  legend  is,  that  th< 
age  of  such  miracles  should  have  passed 
away.  And  yet,  fear  not,  ye  poor  and  suffer- 
ing children  of  toil !  Only  be  gentle  and 
pure-hearted  as  that  young  girl  —  trust  as 
she  trusted  —  pray  as  she  prayed  —  and  be 
sure  that  Heaven  in  its  own  good  time  will 
deliver  you. 


I. 

"Give  to  him  that  asketh." 

IP  the  poor  man  pass  thy  door, 
Give  him  of  thy  bounteous  store; 
Give  him  food  and  give  him  gold, 
Give  him  shelter  from  the  cold; 
Aid  him  his  lone  life  to  live, 
For  'tis  angel  like  to  give. 

Though  world-riches  thou  hast  not, 
Give  to  him  of  poorer  lot; 
Think  thee  of  the  widow's  mite  — 
In  the  holy  Master's  sight, 
It  was  more,  a  thousand  fold, 
Than  the  rich  man's  hoard  of  gold. 


OF    SPAKKLING    DROPS.  311 

Give,  it  is  the  better  part, 
Give  to  him,  "the  poor  in  heart;" 
Give,  of  love  in  large  degree, 
Give,  of  hope  and  sympathy; 
Cheer  to  them  who  sigh  forlorn, 
Light  to  him  whose  lamp  is  gone. 

Give  the  gray-haired  wanderer  room, 
Lead  him  gently  to  the  tomb; 
Let  him  not  in  friendless  clime, 
Float  adown  the  tide  of  time; 
Hear  the  mother's  lonely  call, 
She,  the  dearest  one  of  all. 

And  the  lost,  abandoned  one, 
In  thy  pathway  do  not  shun; 
Of  thy  kindness  she  hath  need, 
Bind  with  balm  the  bruised  reed; 
Give,  and  gifts  above  all  price, 
Shall  be  thine  in  paradise. 


oing, 


BY  K.  ELLIOTT. 


"He  does  well  who  does  his  best;" 
Is  he  weary?  let  him  rest: 
Brothers!  I  have  done  my  best; 


THE    SILVER    CUP 

I  am  weary  —  let  me  rest. 
After  toiling  oft  in  vain, 
Baffled,  yet  to  struggle  fain; 
After  toiling  long  to  gain 
Little  good,  with  mickle  paini 
Let  me  rest,  but  lay  me  low, 
Where  the  hedgeside  roses  blow, 
"Where  the  little  daisies  grow, 
When  the  winds  a-Maying  go. 
Where  the  footpath  rustics  plod; 
Where  the  breeze-bowed  poplars  nod, 
Where  the  old  woods  worship  God, 
Where  His  pencil  paints  the  sod, 
Where  the  wedded  throstle  sings, 
Where  the  young  bird  tries  its  wings, 
Where  the  wailing  plover  swings 
Near  the  runlet's  rushy  springs! 
Where  at  times  the  tempest's  roar, 
Shaking  distant  sea  and  shore, 
Still  will  rave  old  Barnesdale  o'er^ 
To  be  heard  by  me  no  more! 
There,  beneath  the  breezy  West, 
Tired  and  thankful,  let  me  rest, 
Like  a  child,  that  sleepeth  best 
On  its  gentle  mother's  breast 

THE    END. 


